


|C U P I D| Fresh! Sans x Reader

by moonkissed_norwegian



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Character Death, Choose Your Own Ending, Dubious Consent, Enjoy heartbreak and suffering, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Fingering, Fresh is my home-skillet though, Happy Halloween, Jealousy, Mind Manipulation, Murder-Suicide, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Organs, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Reader Is Not Chara (Undertale), Reader Is Not Frisk (Undertale), Stalking, Suicide, Surgery, This is my magnum opus, Torture, Tragic Romance, Triggers, Vivisection, Whoo boy this story is messed up, Yandere, Yandere! Sans, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 06:33:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21094973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonkissed_norwegian/pseuds/moonkissed_norwegian
Summary: You eventually fall in love with your roommate.





	1. do you l o v e me?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, guys! This is a Halloween special. I've been working on it for a bit, so I hope you enjoy it! This story is very very very twisted and messed up, so please take caution! Read at your own risk, there are a lot of trigger warnings. These are my headcanons on Fresh/how he would be as a yandere. I'll be posting the cover to this fanfic on the Undertale Amino if you want to give that a look! Have fun, leave a comment, and enjoy the holidays!

He was staring at you again.

This hadn't been the first time Fresh had done that this week, but it didn't make it any less creepy. Gritting your teeth and deciding to ignore it, you spun around to face him and flashed your brightest smile.

"Hi, Fresh," you began happily, "how have you been today?"

His usual, unsettling grin that was permanently settled into his features loomed over you, his 'YO-LO' sunglasses glinting in the sunshine. Just exactly like his smile, his sense of clothing was rather odd - though, Fresh was quite the oddball himself, so you never really thought much about it. He looked like he had been ripped straight from out of the nineties, with all of the brights color and tacky patterns and noisy vinyl-windbreakers. Angling your head upwards in an attempt to try to look him in the eyes, you noticed that he had a pair of dinky, metal headphones around his neck. Trailing down the cord and spotting the Walkman attached to his right hip, you realized he had previously been listening to music before you spoke to him.

Fresh didn't really respond at first, staring down at you for a prolonged amount of time. In the eight months you've known him, he's done this so often that you don't even really question it anymore. You always assumed that maybe he had some sort of issue with direct communication or that he had some type of anxiety that made him take his time to form his sentences, so you would wait. You've become close with him as of late, so you're going to be as courteous and understanding to him as possible.

Finally, the waiting paid off and he spoke.

"Hi, (Name)," he breathily giggled out. "My day's even better now that you're here." Rolling your eyes playfully and laughing softly, you nudged him in the arm lightly and felt your smile grow. From day one, Fresh had been the biggest flirt known to man, but only to you. Not once have you seen him speak to someone else like that, so it was kind of sweet. It made you feel special.

The two of you met by chance at a vintage store when you were searching for a couple of CDs to add to your collection and then you unceremoniously bumped into someone, jewel cases falling from your arms and clattering to the floor. When you bent down to scoop them up, you accidentally clashed heads with the person you had run into that also tried to help you grab the CDs. Rubbing your head in pain and shifting your eyes towards the person, this was the first time you met Fresh.

He was super nice and scrambled to pick up the CDs, shoving them into your arms and jumping to attention. Fresh had stuffed his hands into his pockets, abashed and gaze averted. Splashed across his cheeks was this airbrushed looking purple flush, illuminated underneath the environment-saving light bulbs of the store. You thought he looked cute.

Then, it was from there the two of you met regularly at this place. Sometimes you would come for incense, new second-hand CDs, or just to grab one of the books off the shelves and settle down on one of the corduroy couches to read. You always came to this place after work to soothe your stress and relax, Fresh quickly picked up on that. That's how he was always able to be here, just waiting for you. At first, it sort of creeped you out, but you learned to appreciate his company. He was usually silent, though he did have a few eccentric habits of cracking a few jokes here and there and talking about the things he liked.

It would always come up at the strangest of times, too. Once, for example, you had just mentioned that your dearly departed dog dug out your collection of squirmles to eat them and Fresh perked up and started gushing about how much he loved squirmles. Different, shy, and soft-spoken. When he had admitted that, the brightest smile had darted up to your cheeks. It wasn't often he changed the subject to talk about himself, but it never upset you because he always listened to your every word. _Always_. So it was definitely welcomed, especially because it allowed the two of you to bond.

It only took a month for you to really warm up to him, invite him out for take-out and late-night drives, or spend time privately with him. He often stayed at your home, just crashing on your couch. Whenever you asked Fresh if he had somewhere to be, he always waved it off dismissively with this aloof air surrounding him. Though you didn't mind, it made you fret over him. Which is how he became your new flatmate, staying in the guest bedroom about two months after you met. Fresh had nearly burst from happiness whenever you told him that if he didn't have a home that he could stay with you, since you couldn't bear the thought of him homeless and by his lonesome.

Everything else is history.

"Fresh, hunny, I'm sorry for being late," you murmured, walking into your home and shutting the door. "Had overtime today." Fresh waited for you to ungraciously drop your purse onto the ground and kick off your shoes, observing you the entire time. Once your jacket was off, you sadly pivoted around back to him. This didn't deter him one bit and he lurched forward, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into the nook of your neck. He was still all giggly and his breath tickled, so you wiggled in his grasp and tugged at the back of his windbreaker.

"I missed you," came his only response. You playfully rolled your eyes and sighed, returning his hug and relaxing your head against his skull, chin resting on his shoulder.

"I missed you, too," you responded. "But, baby, I'm real tired and I wanna go to sleep. You don't mind take-out for dinner, do you?" He shook his head and rocked you gently, shuffling with you towards your bedroom. Fresh's hold didn't let up, just like usual. He would want to accompany you to the bedroom and lay down with you. You didn't care, he was so close to you that you didn't think much of it anymore. Fresh wasn't too handsy and, if anything, he just seemed to shiver anytime he held you. Another quirk about him, you supposed.

"We'll call them after you get up," Fresh mumbled into your hair.

"Okay," you yawned, flopping down onto your bed with Fresh. "I want Chinese." He rolled the two of you over to the left, pulling the navy blue comforter over the two of you and tucking you right up. A content sigh slipped past your lips, nuzzling into your fat pillow and feeling Fresh wrap himself around you. It was cozy and warm, perfect for chilly autumn evenings like this.

"Anything for you," said Fresh.

Nodding, now feeling the stress from work leave you, and closing your eyes, you slowly drifted off into a well-deserved nap.

* * *

"C'mon, candy-face," someone murmured into your ear and you shifted. Eyelids fluttering open and scanning the almost black room, you wearily rolled over to your other side that wasn't currently buzzing the sleep from the tense muscles out. Stretching and snaking your arms around someone's neck, you buried your face into their chest and muttered back,

"Don't wanna get up."

Fresh chuckled, raking his fingers through your locks and twirling a strand around his index phalange. Quietly groaning and writhing underneath the touch, you began untangling your limbs from his to clamber out of bed. The comforter was snug around your shoulders, so you ended up pulling that along with you and it hung slightly off to one side. Yawning audibly and proudly, you smacked your lips back together and whimpered the sleep-haze away. Fresh sprang forward, sitting flush against you, knee touching patella.

"I can call them for you," Fresh offered softly, whispering. "I've got your order memorized, love."

"Thanks," you nodded. "My card's in my wallet. Purse is still by the door." Fresh didn't respond, but his touch lingered. His arm was tight against your waist, making you lean into him slightly. Fresh returned the embrace before he pulled away, stood and sluggishly shuffled towards the living room. Trying to stand and follow him, you felt your body lurch unsteadily and you fell back onto the bed. Another yawn wracked through you, so stretching and pulling the blanket taut around your body, you drifted back off to sleep.

* * *

"My radical miracle, wake up, please," Fresh's voice jolted you back into the land of the living. Your eyes snapped open and scanned the room around in a panic, tossing and turning to sit up and you moaned out.

"What's wrong? What happened?" you insisted, finally propping your upper body to face Fresh but he just placed his hand on your cheek, shushing you.

"Chica, the food's here," he spoke slowly, chuckling a little afterward. "Calm down." Sighing and feeling your shoulders droop in relief, you flung the comforter off of your body, wincing at the loss of warmth and pushing yourself into a sitting position. Fresh smiled at you, removing his hand and offering it instead. Gratefully accepting it, Fresh lifted you from the bed and started tugging you towards the dining room.

When the two of you arrived, you noticed that Fresh had the various take-out boxes sitting neatly side by side. The little, plastic, black chopsticks were out of their packages and a couple of napkins sat in between them. Fresh pulled out your chair for you, scooting you back towards the table and then settling himself to your right. You blindly reached out for the chopsticks, blinking back how tired you were and feeling your eyes tug at how dark the house was. The majority of the lights were turned off, save for the one hanging above your head. Quirking a brow in confusion, you shook your head slightly and focused on shoveling noodles into your mouth.

It was mostly silent between Fresh and you, until the end. When you were scraping the chopsticks at the bottom of the box, trying to push all of the baby noodles into one giant pile to nab them with one fell swoop, Fresh finally spoke up.

"(Name)," he started, attempting to grab your attention. You hummed to let him know you were listening, still mainly focused on snapping the two sticks around the pile when Fresh wearily cleared his throat and you heard something slide across the table. Yanking the noodles out and chowing down, you shifted your eyes over to whatever Fresh handed you. There, in a small white envelope, was a letter.

"What's that?" you inquired, swallowing and placing the empty box onto the table. Fresh rubbed his neck awkwardly, looking off to the side and shrugging.

"Don't know," he responded. "It's for you though." Arching a brow and reaching for the letter, you lifted it up and inspected the outside. Your address was written in the dead center, the handwriting a little sloppy and slanted towards the left, but not illegible. Glancing to the top left corner to see who sent it, you were surprised to find that it was blank.

So there was no sender address then.

"Weird," you mused. "Whaddya think it is?" Fresh shrugged, staring intently down at his food. He was picking at it again, box only half empty.

"It's rude to look at someone else’s mail," he muttered. Regarding that he didn't really answer your question at all and half-heartedly rolling your eyes, you hooked a finger into one corner of the envelope and started ripping the seal open. Tearing paper was the only sound filling the room now, and you spared a quick glimpse at Fresh to see him anxiously sitting with bated breath, pulling out the contents inside. Of course, it was folded up thrice, so you slowly flicked the two ends open and angled it towards the light.

From what you could tell, it appeared to be some sort of poem. You're not too sure, but it has your name scrawled across the top in what looked like mock calligraphy.

"Huh, someone sent some poetry," you bluntly stated. Fresh shifted at your statement, seemingly uncomfortable.

"Oh, that's nice," was all he said, noncommittally. Biting the inside of your cheek as you scrutinized him, trying to figure out what could possibly be bugging him, you shrugged before turning your attention towards the poem. Your eyes skimmed over the letter, reading it aloud to Fresh.

_-A light, glimmering within the clutches of darkness._  
_ I can see you there, standing ; sunshine, beams of warmth that caress my cheeks._  
_ You burn, a conflagration. Melting and smiling, your heartbeat echoes in my ears._  
_ To hold you, feel skin like rose petals._  
_ Tracing, breathing, pretty eyes, and butterflies._  
_ Could you be my savior? or shall I forever be abandoned to decay?_  
_ Nothing can stop this; we turn, all for naught, lost in the tide of ephemeral._  
_ Let me, and I'll be all yours. -_

You blinked, dumbfounded. Lowering the letter to ask Fresh what he thought, you looked over at him to see him hunched over his take-out, gripping the box so tightly that you were afraid it would crumble and spill noodles everywhere. Gasping and leaning towards him, you gently set a hand on his shoulder to loosen his grip.

"What's wrong?" you inquired, but he only shook his head. "Ah, was it the poem? Sorry, I know ‘lovey-dovey’ isn’t really your style." Once again, Fresh shook his head. He released his choking hold on the box, resting it on the table before letting his hands fall to his lap.

"No, just remembered something," he admitted and that was all.

"Oh, sorry," you said awkwardly, averting your gaze and scanning your still home. You didn't really know what to say now.

"Please don't apologize," Fresh waved a hand dismissively, pushing the conversation away. "What did you think about the poem?" Perking back up and raising the letter, you grinned and chuckled.

"I thought it was kind of confusing," you breathily sighed, "but it was sweet, too." And it was the truth. The poem seemed to be handwritten by someone, excluding any sort of date or signature. You're assuming someone wrote that for you, too. But who? Several people popped into your mind, but after a quick evaluation, you realized that none of them seemed to be the poetic type. Fresh dipped his head, the ends of his eyebrows pinching up slightly.

"Who do you think wrote it?" he asked, sounding almost eager. Cocking your head to the side, you shrugged.

"Not sure," you stated. "I don't even know if it's even _for_ me, ya dig? Eh, who knows?" You leaned back into your seat, legs splayed out lazily and arms twisted back to rest your head against your palms. Sweet or not, you're tired. Plus, you don't have a single clue about the poem. You sort of just wanted to go back to sleep, so closing your eyes, you yawned.

"Poem aside, I think I'm going to bed, hun," you pushed your seat back and stood. Fresh lifted his skull, leering at you. He nodded, picking up his chopsticks.

"I'll join you after I finish eating, then," Fresh mumbled and you stretched your arms above your head, flashing him a thumbs-up. Pivoting around on your heel and shuffling back towards the bedroom, you missed Fresh. He watched you all the way, until you disappeared behind the corner. Eyes never leaving you.

* * *

The next time you found another letter happened whenever you were tidying up the kitchen, having noticed the small square shape only after moving a few miscellaneous objects and tossing some dishes into the sink. It was placed almost inconspicuously, like it was meant to be hidden and found. Seeing that it still lacked a return address, you assumed Fresh must have grabbed your mail for you and left it there. A soft smile tugged at the corners of your mouth and you snatched the envelope up, tearing into it to read whatever might possibly be inside of there this time.

And, surprisingly, it was another poem.

_-Emotionless, I stand there. Flush against the backdrop, hidden from your beauty._  
_ shadows kiss my bones and i wished it was you, hands holding me._  
_ Red pools over my vision; tunneling, swimming around like little fish in torturous streams._  
_ I'm thrown back into the current, spinning and my body is undulating; can I come back home to you?_  
_ I want to. -_

This one was definitely curter, but it made your heart pound against your chest. Who was writing these? Lowering the paper, you hastily folded it back up and stuffed it into the envelope, turning and carrying it towards your bedroom. You had kept the first one, hidden away in the little drawer of your bedside nightstand. It appeared that you had some sort of secret admirer, which warmed your cheeks any time you thought about having someone doting over you and writing you sweet little poems -- even if parts of them seemed rather morbid or flat-out eccentric.

You had hooked your finger in the metal ring and pulled the drawer open, dropping this letter atop the other and barely closing it before a voice called out your name from behind you. Gasping and placing a hand on your chest to calm your startled breathing, you spun around to see Fresh standing inside the threshold, hands in pockets and focused solely on you. Breathing out in relief, you giggled.

"Oh, hi, Fresh," you greeted him. "I didn't realize you were home!"

"Sorry," Fresh apologized, tilting his head over to the side and jabbing a finger towards you. "What were you doing?"

"My secret admirer wrote me another letter," you joked, grinning and clapping your hands together. "So I put it with the other. Oh! And before I forget, thanks for getting it for me." Fresh dipped his head at you, looking over his shoulder.

"Anything for you," he said. "I, er, do you want to watch a movie with me?" Nodding excitedly and stepping towards Fresh, you linked your arm together with his and laughed.

"Of course," you agreed, heading for the living room. "What's on the menu?"

"All Dogs Go to Heaven," Fresh said, feeling himself being yanked and dragged as your whooping rang throughout the mostly quiet home, chuckling. You spared a glance back to tease him, eyes crinkled, seeing his shades glitter -- your heart stopped. Your brows furrowed, trying to figure out what word had just flashed across the lenses, but thinking about it simply confused you.

Fresh only smiled, leading you the rest of the way.

* * *

Rays of light poked through your curtains, sunlight dancing across your face. You sniffed, nuzzling your face deeper into the pillow and squirming, trying to burrow further into the covers. Groaning and flopping over, your hands felt around, finding Fresh. Grasping for his windbreaker, you drew closer to him and rested your head upon his chest. One of his hands snaked up your side, tangling in your locks. He gingerly scratched your scalp before running his phalanges through your hair, untangling it. You whined at Fresh, lightly patting his sternum.

"Fresh," you cried, "I don't wanna be awake, stop that please."

"My little bunny side-up, it's nearly eleven," Fresh laughed once. "You need breakfast, please get up."

"I'd rather starve," you complained and Fresh shifted underneath you. Within a second, he flipped you over and your eyes snapped open, a surprised gasp escaping your lips. Furrowing your brows, you lifted your eyes back up and mustered a curious expression. Fresh was hovering over you, breathing heavily. You had vaguely seen the word 'NO-SH' displayed across his sunglasses, and your hands grappled for his shoulders and pressed down.

"Overtime really killed me last night, baby," you explained. "I really don't have the energy to make something to eat." Fresh's breathing calmed, but you could still sense the vibrations come from him. He was rattling, you sighed in defeat.

"I can make it for you," Fresh claimed. Letting your hands drop from his shoulders and flop onto the mattress, you hummed and weakly shrugged.

"You really don't have to," you refuted.

"I want to," he said, clambering off of you, "I'm going to."

Before you were able to respond and stop him, Fresh had already vanished. Sagging in defeat and rolling over, you dozed off until he was finished, having lost the previous edge. You mumbled a small 'thank you' against the pillow, knowing that he couldn't hear you, but a shiver traced down your spine regardless - like he already _knew_.

* * *

_-Flowers poke from each crevice of my skull, sweet and sugary._  
_ their taste fills my buds, and then i imagine it's you._  
_ One by one, the petals wither and fall, but I grasp the stem._  
_ It is you, I can't let you go, I need you._  
_ When can I have you? the longer this fares, the harder it becomes._  
_ A knife slices, the stem is split ; love seeps out._  
_ But could you ever really love me? -_

You grimaced, rearing your head back slightly after skimming over the letter. That was...not so good. Sure, it wasn't a bad poem, but you didn't really like the imagery it enticed. Folding the paper, your eyes unconsciously slid over to the trash can, tempted to crumble it up and toss it out. Temptation almost won, but you decided to keep it, just in case. Sighing, you scooted back, hearing the chair screech against the floor. Standing and turning, your entire body tensed and you about screamed.

Fresh was looming over you, his features tight and he looked uncomfortable. You panted, having been thoroughly spooked, and averted your gaze and angled your head away from him. Opening your mouth to reprimand him, Fresh was quicker on the draw and spoke first.

"Did you not like it?" he inquired, voice sounding strained. Your brows scrunched, face pinched.

"Well, er, why do you ask?" you deflected, not really eager to talk about how the letter sort of unsettled you -- and Fresh was definitely not helping.

"Your face," he answered. "I saw the looks you made." You nodded your head, but your face jerked up.

"You were _watching_ me?" you asked incredulously, feeling really creeped out now. "Not cool, dudes." You referenced, hoping to get Fresh to emote and realize that you didn't want him to do that anymore, but Fresh remained silent. Releasing a few nervous chuckles, you backed up from him as far as you could, bumping into the chair you previously sat on.

"(Name)," he finally said," did you not like it?" You observed Fresh, irises vibrating as you noticed how deathly still he stood. Gulping, some part of you told you that _he_ was the one writing the poems, but you dismissed it. No way, Fresh wasn't usually romantic -- or poetic. Perhaps he knew the one who was writing them? Maybe that's why he's acting so eccentrically.

"Well, it's not that it wasn't written well," you drawled," it's just, if these are written for me, I really don't like the idea of being cut open, see? Some of the lines in here didn't sit well with me, I guess." Fresh didn't budge, and his teeth ground against each other, his golden tooth glimmering. Once again, something flashed across his glasses, but you weren't able to read it before it was gone. 'YO-LO' glaring back at you.

"But it's part of the art," Fresh said, finally leaning back and letting you take a clear breath," isn't that right? I mean, I wouldn't know. No one's ever loved me." Frowning, you reached forward and grasped his right humerus, squeezing.

"That's a lie, Fresh," you argued, "I love you!" You smiled afterward, but Fresh's entire body jerked and he twitched. The suddenness of his movements made you blink rapidly, yet you didn't remove your hold from him. Fresh mumbled something, and before you were able to ask him to repeat himself, Fresh stepped towards you and placed both of his hands on your upper arms. Your hand fell from him and one brow arched, you waited for him to speak.

"Why don't we get some pizza? My treat," Fresh offered, disregarding the entire conversation. Your lips pursed, but you granted mercy.

"Sure," you chirped, wiggling out from his grip and waltzing towards the foyer. "Let's hope we don't meet my admirer, yeah?" You guffawed, but Fresh didn't join you, and you curiously peeked back at him. His phalanges drummed steadily against his pants, his grin now stretched so far across his face that his glasses had shifted out of place. Something about his posture scared you, so deciding it would be best to ignore it, you dashed madly for the front door and grabbed your purse.

Just what was wrong with him?

* * *

"Another letter came," Fresh's voice sliced through your mindless thoughts, and your irises darted up to meet his sunglasses. Pausing, removing your hands from the tights you currently had been trying to shimmy over your legs, Fresh relented the envelope to you. After the last one, your desire to see the poems had diminished slightly, but your curiosity bested you and a sigh escaped your lips.

"I'll open it when I get back," you mumbled, doubling over your legs and stretching your arm as far out as possible without dislocating it, trying to steadily set the letter onto your nightstand. Groaning, realizing your reach was a few inches short, you almost resolved to toss the envelope onto it until Fresh brashly interrupted you.

"Get back from where?" he asked a little too quickly, sounding almost panicked. Shifting your eyes towards him, one brow arched and you perked back to attention, the letter still gripped in your hold.

"From my date with Gilbert," you cheerily responded, but Fresh emitted this strangled noise within the back of his throat and your head cocked to the side. "I was fairly certain I mentioned it earlier this week, but I guess not." Fresh robotically shook his head, fist balling and clenching his pants.

"You didn't," he spat out in a hissing whisper.

"Sorry," you frowned, standing and dragging up the bunched up material over your hips and pulling up the tights on spots that pinched at your skin. "Do you need money for dinner? I won't be back until late tonight." Fresh didn't respond, still glaring daggers into your floor and you whined. Carefully sliding over to him, you stretch your arms out and around him, snaking around his waist and pulling him into a hug. Fresh was stiff for a moment, but gave in with a sigh, returning the hold by placing his hands over your shoulder blades and squeezing.

"Thank you for the offer, but no," he muttered into your ear, his hot breath tickling you before burying his head onto your clavicle.

"Only if you say so," you nodded, loosening your grip to indicate you wanted him to let go," but Fresh, I really need to finish getting dressed." His hands dropped from your back, falling limply to his sides and allowing you to step away. Smiling softly at him, you twirled around and slid back towards your bed, picking up your pencil-skirt. Your fingers searched for the zipper and tugged it down, bending forward and lifting your legs to pull it up to your waist.

Crooking your arms at your elbows behind your back and loosely fumbling to grab the slider, you halted only whenever you felt someone's hand brush against yours and handle it for you. Turning your head, seeing Fresh standing behind you and grinning shyly, before he stumbled back a bit whenever you giggled. Nodding appreciatively, you spun on your heel and held your arms out in a 'ta-da' pose.

"What we thinkin', baby?" you laughed loudly whenever Fresh rubbed the back of his neck and averted his gaze, the word 'CU-TE' proudly displayed on his sunglasses, staring at the floor and blushing brightly.

"I think you look as gorgeous as always," he mumbled.

"Aw, thanks!" you exclaimed excitedly, clapping your hands together a few times and moving to leave the bedroom, but Fresh called your name out and you paused. Looking at him quizzically, then pursed your lips and gestured for him to talk.

"You should read the letter now," the letter had returned to his hand, and it jut out towards you temptingly. Glancing down to the letter, you checked the alarm clock on the nightstand to see if you had the time, then snatched the envelope from Fresh. Digging into it and retrieving the letter, your thumb and index finger pushed apart the folded down top and bottom to read the poem.

_-Drip, drip, drip, drop. Waves crash and they unfurl._  
_ I'm drowning, but your fingers brush against my cheek and I'm safe._  
_ you hold me and touch me and feel me and keep me and_  
_ And then I can reach into you._  
_ Claws slice your body open and I'm free to crawl inside of you._  
_ A savior, the two of us together, rolling in and ensnared again.-_

"Fresh," your breath escaped you and you had to retry," Fresh, the first couple of poems were really romantic, but now I feel as if someone's telling me about their unrequited love?" Fresh curled and uncurled his fingers repeatedly, expectantly looking at you to continue, inhaling whenever he realized that was all you had to say.

"Oh, maybe," Fresh shrugged. "Do you have any clue as to who it might be now?" There was a hint of hope in his tone that you couldn't exactly place your finger on and your eyes slid back to the clock, holding your hands up and shaking your head.

"Not at all," you answered. "Possibly Gilbert? Eh, I don't know, he asked me out on a date - so I don't understand why he would feel the need to write me poems if I've already agreed to go out with him tonight...?" You mused, rubbing your chin in thought and missing the waves of utter agony that washed over Fresh as he slowly began to crumble. Fresh was just barely able to compose himself before you refocused on him and hummed.

"Interesting," was the only thing that left him.

"Yeah, well, in any case," you began, "I need to go. Hehe, maybe my admirer will confess their secret identity soon!" You joked at the end, shuffling for the threshold - completely missing the twitch that ripped through Fresh - and waving goodbye.

"See ya later tonight, hun!" you cried, disappearing from view.

"I'll be here waiting for you, baby-cakes."

* * *

Fresh's jacket noisily cried out whenever your arms slid against your sides, elbows pointed back and you bowed at Fresh. There was a soft expression curtaining over his features as he stared down at you, accepting your outstretched hands and letting you pull him. Your bodies twirled, a swaying gait and feet tapping along to the music blasting on the CD player. It was a shuffle, then there would be waltzing, before a combination of some popular dances Fresh had a distant memory of seeing on TV. Your happy laughter bounced off the walls, reverberating throughout your home, Fresh's occasional tenor chuckle joining.

Sugar Ray's _Fly_ was catchy, and you looked awfully cute in his jacket, Fresh couldn't find it in him to deny your dancing nature. A victorious grin plastered all the way up to your rosy cheeks, pressing your body closer to his and giggling. He mirrored your cheeky expression, holding your hands and shimmying along to the beat. Chortles bubbled between the two of you any time Super Cat's quirky lyrics skipped on the track, trying desperately hard to mimic his voice and sputter out his nonsensical words.

The song reached its crescendo, pausing and dying down with Super Cat's wailing war-cry, when you saddled up against Fresh. He faltered for just a second, but recovered and quickly tossed both of his arms around your waist and clucked his tongue twice whenever the song kicked back up and continued on to the last verse. Fresh looked into your sparkling eyes, seeing this sort of glimmer that reminded him of sunshine and breezy, warm days smiling up at him.

And, somewhere within his vapid being, his soul thrummed to life. Especially whenever your hands rested on his mandibles and perched up on your tippy-toes, your soft lips pecking such a sweet and ginger smooch to his left cheekbone. Fresh's breath left him, heart jumping all the way into his throat and choking him whenever your mouth accidentally brushed against the corner of his mouth - right beside the ridge of his teeth; winking, slumping back down and pulling away from him just as the song ended.

Fresh could almost swear, watching you stalk towards the boombox to skip the tracks until you finally landed on _Someday_, your hips sashaying deliciously so - that you _knew_.

* * *

"Hey, hun, I've gotta question," your hands mindlessly wrung together, Fresh noticed. He tilted his skull towards you, indicating that he was paying attention; studying your nervous shuffle, the way you glanced defensively like you would have to sprint away at any given minute, the clearing of your throat before you returned your full focus on him. "Okay, can I read you the latest poem?"

"Of course," came his dutiful reply. Whenever Fresh dipped his skull slightly, your hand started fishing around in your purse and lifted to reveal the crinkled, wadded-up envelope. His smile twitched, pulled taut, and he jerked forward a few inches. "What happened to it?" Your brows rose and your eyes darted up to meet his sunglasses, only having just flicked the envelope open.

"It was in my mailbox this morning, so I took it to work and read it," you retrieved the poem. "Guess I shouldn't have put it in here, huh?" This didn't comfort Fresh at all, if anything, it made him sit up even more on edge. His teeth ground together, shaking hands flashing out of sight and into his pockets to hide his spiked nerves.

"Did you let anyone at work read it?" Fresh quietly inquired, feeling relief wash over him whenever your head shook rapidly.

"Hella no," you all but shouted. "I don't want my coworkers to start teasing me now!" Fresh rolled his eye-lights back to stare up at the ceiling, teeth clenched together tightly when his skull rolled along with the motion. He was panting, he noticed. Fresh watched you from his peripherals, knew he needed to calm down so that you didn't start worrying about him right now, no - he had to listen to what you thought about the poem. He _needed_ to know.

"There's only a couple of problems I have with this one," you began," first and foremost, it was in my mailbox before the mail ran today and after it already did yesterday. Wicked weird, right?" The only response you received was a curt bob of his head, which made your lips purse, tempted to worry about the poem later but then your fear from this whole poem ordeal resurfaced; shuddering and forcing it back down, you made a mental note to ask Fresh what was bothering him after this.

"Two: this one is definitely, uh, something all right," it fell out of your mouth so easily that Fresh thought someone embedded a knife straight through his rib-cage. "It's...creepy, romantic, insightful, er,...melancholic? I've got no clue how to describe it, to be honest." When Fresh didn't say anything, you took that as your cue to read and finally opened your mouth, inhaling deeply before beginning.

_\- He tears through me, deflowering me and popping my head right off my shoulders._  
_ hands cradle me, they rock me to and fro, swaying like a ship lost at sea._  
_ I'm searching for you, I look and look, but you've gone ; arms of another._  
_ My hands clamp together, emotionless, abandoned - 'Ive got to keep it all together and locked inside._  
_ You don't want to see me, you don't want to know the real me._  
_ But I'm yours, forever and always, even when I watch your fleeting form whorl and twirl and evanesce away. -_

"See what I mean? It's like, good, right?" you let the hand with the poem fall to your side, other resting on your cocked hip. "But I don't know how I'm supposed to feel. It's a little more toned down with the, er, violence against me - yet! it's super dark."

"Someone's hopelessly pining after you," Fresh commented, muttering so lowly that you almost missed it. At his statement, you made some sort of face that Fresh wasn't really able to read at all before it passed, and you closed your eyes and shrugged.

"Who knows," you shake your head," let's just hope my admirer doesn't get too bold. Hate to have a stalker, ya know?" Fresh was motionless, which reminded you that something had upset him earlier and you gasped inaudibly, holding a hand out for him. He finally snapped out of his daze, glancing down at your open palm and then back up to your face. You smiled sweetly, other hand now gripping the straps of your purse.

"Eh, we'll worry about it later, come on," you brushed the poem and your admirer off, for now, caring only about Fresh," let's go pick up some ice-cream. You look like you could use it."

You and Fresh stared at each other for a few moments, a somewhat uncomfortable air filling the silence and surrounding the two of you. But then, finally, he accepted your hand and you helped pull him to a standing position. You laced your fingers with his, twisting around enough to trek towards the front door.

Fresh could only think about how soft and warm your flesh felt.

* * *

Stars glittered in the sky above you, twinkling so nicely that there was just that perfect amount of light pouring in through the windows of the sunroom, casting this ethereal glow onto you and Fresh. You couldn't help the gentle sigh that slipped out, feeling your eyes flutter to a close the longer you stared at the contrast between crystalline white and sweepingly dark navy blue. Fresh shifted, hand brushing against yours, fingers lacing with phalanges. He wasn't wearing his gloves at the moment, allowing you to feel just how vastly different his smooth bone traced over your own skin. It was like one whole unit, fused together so that his metacarpus was one, though sculpted to where you could still tell where the bones would have been on a normal human. Tracing over the texture always amazed you, losing yourself at the subtle kinetic energy pent up beneath the bone. Lost to your thoughts, and absentminded, your thumb and index digit began to fiddle with the bones in one of his fingers.

He was watching you again, you could feel his eyes on you from behind his sunglasses. Words bubbled in your throat, but you swallowed them. You didn't want to talk, it would kill the peaceful atmosphere curtaining the small sunroom - so you stayed silent. Fresh, however, had other ideas.

"(Name)," he called out softly, almost as if he was testing out the sound of his own voice. Your head rolled to the side, eyes half-lidded, and emitted a noise from the back of your throat to let him know you were listening. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yeah, baby?" it came out sounding more like a whine, having almost been lulled to sleep with the plush cot underneath your back and the warm air blanketing your body. Fresh noticed and he shifted again, drawing himself closer to you and speaking even quieter than before.

"Are - ...Did you and Gilbert click?" one of your eyes opened fully, intrigued by the question, seeing Fresh with this wincing expression plastered across his features; it was pained, unsure. Your other eye followed suit, and you wriggled upwards to be able to meet his eyes directly, face close to his.

"Not really," you shrugged one of your shoulders, biting the inside of your cheek and averting your irises for a couple of seconds, "turns out we've known each other too long, it felt like going on a date with my brother." You met Fresh's stare again, watching his face draw up even more. He inhaled, obviously debating something internally, words caught on the tip of his tongue. You waited, trying to let him find the right way to ask you whatever it was, seeing his entire body shake. Tremors rippled through him and his fingers instinctively tightened around yours, almost crushing it all together. A curt gasp left you, snapping Fresh out of his reverie, grip loosening.

"Sorry," Fresh mumbled," I was thinking." You nodded, having already forgiven him before he even apologized.

"It's okay," you cheerily muttered. "What'cha thinkin’ about?" Fresh didn't answer, and he didn't answer for a _long_ time, letting the question hang so openly and exposed. You didn't mind, feeling the sleep that had almost ensnared you previously return full-force, your eyes blinking rapidly before relenting and closing. Staying awake was a struggle, listening to the crickets chirping outside and your breathing and the air-conditioning unit kicking on about whisked you away to dream-land.

And you would have fallen asleep, too, had Fresh not jerked so suddenly and leaped over and on top of your body. You whined, eyes snapping open, and looked up questioningly at Fresh. He was looming over you, skull dipped so closely to your face, arms and legs pressing against your sides and pinning you down. Your brows knitted together and your mouth dropped, ready to ask just what was wrong with him before he lurched and his teeth crashed down onto your lips.

Electricity like you've never known shocked you all the way down the tips of your fingers, toes curling in delight, and you immediately melted against it. You couldn't even stop yourself, couldn't even think of anything other than how it felt to have his teeth work and move against your lips. It was magic, that was for sure. There was this subtle ridge above his teeth that was malleable and it moved in time with your rhythm, making your hands reach up and wrap around his shoulders to pull him closer.

Fresh's body fell against yours after that, molding together with your body, making you wiggle to free your limbs. He released you enough that you could bring your knees up, tight and clenching against his hips. When his teeth parted enough and you felt his tongue crackle and trail across your teeth, you felt your breath leave you and you opened your mouth to let his tongue dance around in your mouth. They swirled together and a groan left him, your back arching just enough to grind against him. One of his hands traced down your sides, toying with the hem of your shirt before sliding under, surprising another gasp out of you.

You pulled back from his kiss, but he followed. Your arms dropped from around him and you quickly grabbed the arm steadily snaking up your tummy, emitting muffled sounds to signal you wanted him to stop. Fresh froze, slowly pulling himself away from you, a thin line of saliva connecting the two of you before it snapped in the middle. You sucked in a breath and opened your mouth to talk to him, free hand grasping to cup his cheekbone.

"Fresh, hunny, listen," you breathlessly whispered, wanting to rationally talk this out with him, but before you were even able to continue - he disappeared. Blinking in surprise, you propped yourself up on your elbows and glanced around, trying to see if he had bolted off of you; yet, there was nothing. He was gone.

Fresh was _gone_.

* * *

The next day was rough. Fresh had completely left your house, causing you to panic and desperately search for him; although, it was no use. You went to all of the places that the two of you usually hung out, but no one had seen him. It was like he had just been completely ripped from this mortal existence in general. Returning home was difficult, knowing that you wouldn't be greeted by Fresh or be able to locate him.

You only wanted to talk about what happened last night, to find out what exactly had been going through his head. It wasn't that you were mad or upset or anything along those lines, just thoroughly confused. Fresh always seemed like the type to distance himself from romance, which is why you assumed he always seemed bothered every time you read him one of the poems. Of course, you had no real reserves about it other than fretting this may damper your friendship, which is why you needed to find him; sit down, talk, settle things.

Fresh must be trying to specifically avoid that, especially with the way he absconded. Perhaps he had a thing for you and now he was afraid you were going to reject him, you mused. A throaty groan left you as you bury your head in your hands, inhaling deeply to soothe your erratic thoughts. Being in a committed relationship didn't seem like a bad idea, the longer you thought about it. Fresh was sweet on you, always trying to help you out, remaining hidden in the backdrop. Your head jerked up at that, feeling a strange sense of deja vu wash over you at that passing thought - like you had heard it somewhere before.

Sighing, you gave in and began the trek home, wishing that you could just fall into your bed with Fresh holding you per usual. With stress from the overloads at work, dealing with a secret admirer sending slightly creepy poetry, and Fresh now avoiding you like the black plague, you just wanted to go to sleep. Your house glared at you across the short distance, body slumping at the foreboding feeling sweeping over your mind and eyes drooping. When you dug into your purse and fumbled with grabbing your keys, you felt tears prick sharply and your eyes felt really hot. You sniffed, trying to push back the tears while removing the keys.

Then, as soon as you jammed the key into the lock and unlocked the door, Fresh was standing a few feet away in the foyer. He appeared tense, yet, you didn't care. Relief filled your body and you gasped happily, not even shutting the door and letting your bag fall to the floor as you pounced for him. Fresh barely had time to catch your catapulting body, grunting and stumbling back a couple of steps as you fling your arms around him and squeezed.

"Oh, my God! I didn't think you were gonna come back," you cried into his shoulder, feeling his skull dip and sink into the nook of your neck. His head shook slightly, a quiet sigh leaving his teeth. "Fresh, please, let's talk about what happened."

"No, just - just forget it ever happened, my bunny side-up," he hastily muttered into your hair.

"Baby, come on," you frowned, shifting and pulling back from him slightly. When you looked directly at his face, you noticed that nothing was displayed across his sunglasses. They glinted underneath the yellow glow of your energy-saving light bulbs, but that was it. Your brows knitted together, extremely concerned for Fresh, but not wanting to push him too much. "I'm not upset, let's just decide-"

"Here," he cut you off and removed himself from your grasp," this came in the mail." Your arms fell to your sides and, you swear, your heart broke in that minute. Why didn't Fresh want to talk about last night? It wasn't even that big of a deal, only a kiss. Your line of sight dropped down to his outstretched hand, a letter loosely held between his thumb and two phalanges. Weakly, almost hesitantly, you tugged the envelope from him and tore into the top flap. It was the only sound in the room, you couldn't even hear yours or Fresh's breath. Then, once you had the paper out and were able to read it, you blanched in confusion.

-Your eyes are so pretty, has anyone ever told you that? So many times, I've felt myself being pulled into those glowing orbs; drowning and gurgling and whirling, lost and trapped in such beautiful hues. I lose myself when I'm with you, I lose control of myself. It's hard, so hard. I just want to grab you and pull you onto me and hold you down and suffocate you. I don't want you dead, I just want you to be with me for eternity. Each breath you take fills my lungs and my heart throbs, you look so so so perfect. I'd die for you, I'd kill for you, if you want, I'd kill myself for you. Tell me what you want, and it's all yours. Anything for you, anything for us. Please, touch me, beg for me, and let me please you. I need to, if I don't - I might die. Can't you see? We're meant to be together. You make me feel. You make sunshine flow through my veins and I crave it, I'll starve without it.<strike>_ If you let me starve, then I might have to just slice you open and peel your skin apart and eat you up. I can hear your heartbeat, I can hear your soul thrum, I know what makes you happy. I can make you feel good, why can't you just trust me enough to really love me? I'm in love with you, I've studied everything you've done. Countless nights I've stood at the foot of your bed and watched you touch yourself and I've wanted to just climb onto of you and pin you down and be the one touching you. I've controlled myself for so long, but it's getting hard to now. You're killing me and I don't want you to have to feel that, I want you to feel good. We're soulmates. That's why I can feel when I'm around you. Emotions come to life when I hold you, think of you, imagine you, touch myself to you. We can help each other solve this, I promise I'm not horrible to be around, please - one chance is all I ask for. Just say yes, say yes and I'll ravage you and leave you screaming my name until the ends of time. When I tear you apart, you'll be begging for us to be one. I can make us one, once I crawl inside you - we'll be perfect. I promise, I need this. I love you, I love you, I love you I love you i love you i love you i love you i love -_</strike>

There was what appeared to be dried blood splatters near the top corners of the page, along with this strange, faded and translucent violet substance near the middle. Your mouth fell in horror, realizing that your secret admirer was no longer being subtle and that this was fucking serious. Tears from earlier built up in your ducts, flowing freely while the poem trembled in your hand. You couldn't even understand the second half of the writing, just a bunch of strange characters and emoticons. Your eyes trailed back up from the paper and locked onto Fresh's, seeing that his sunglasses had returned to normal.

"Fresh, what the _fuck_ is this," you sobbed, hands balling into fists and accidentally crumpling the paper. "I - I think I've got a stalker." The poem fell from your hands and you quickly covered your face, absolutely mortified, desperately trying to wrap your brain around whatever the hell it was you just read. Sobs wracked through you, and then you felt Fresh shuffle towards you and pull you into an embrace, gently rubbing soothing circles onto your back. You held him, clinging to him for dear life as fear began to fill you and you began to look around your home suspiciously.

"Shh, it's gonna be okay, angel-face," Fresh tried to soothe you, making more hot, bulbous tears drip down your flushed cheeks, brows furrowed together painfully. You wanted to bury yourself up in your room and never step foot outside, horrified by the idea of some stalker watching your every move - like a private eye. A shudder traced down your spine and you pulled Fresh closer, trying to use his stocky body to conceal yours.

You couldn't stop crying, even whenever Fresh had lifted your body up and carried you to your room, cradling and rocking you gently as you clung onto him. He had pressed a few chaste, skeletal kisses to your cheeks, wiped away your tears, and tried to talk you through it; yet, nothing worked. Your breakdown didn't stop until way after the sun began to set, sinking into the horizon and casting those pretty reds and purples across the sky. Fresh had managed to lull you into a fitful sleep, but you would jerk awake at every little movement.

This revelation of a stalker, unfortunately, would cost you the worst decision of your life.

* * *

It was Saturday night, long after your shift at work ended, and you went out partying with your friends. At first, it was nice, dancing to the high-strung and upbeat music thumping through the mega-speakers of the club. Then the thought about the stalker possibly being there with you reeled in many unwanted emotions and abhorred scenarios that you decided to drown your problems in alcohol. Shot after shot after shot burned down your throat until you couldn't even tell how to walk properly anymore. Then you had some cocktails, then a small glass of vodka, then a couple more shots, then you couldn't even really see without the world spinning and tunneling.

Your sober friend, the designated driver, took mercy upon you and brought everyone home earlier than planned; attempting to keep you safe, of course. So now you were standing before your front door, around two at night, waving animatedly as their car drove off the sidewalk and away from your house. You then began to fruitlessly search for your keys, a frustrated sigh leaving you, before you eventually gave up and began beating your fists against the door.

"Fresh, Fresh?" you called out indecisively, a part of you feeling guilty for possibly waking him, but you knew that you weren't going to get that door open without his help. "Fresh, please, I - I can't open the door." You almost called out his name another time until the door was nearly ripped from its hinges, Fresh looming down over your form with panic and worry embedded into his features. His glasses read 'WH-AT' and a giggle escaped you, attempting to step forward but feeling your balance slack, the world around you turning, and you accidentally lurched forward into his arms. Fresh barely had time to catch your mostly limp body and some more giggles escaped.

"(Name), what's wrong?" he frantically inquired, all but dragging you into the house and pushing the door closed with the heel of his foot. "Why were you out so late? Are you sick, hurt?" His questions tumbled from his mouth but they all flew over your head, and you sighed lovingly, burying your face into his chest.

"I'm so wasted," you chuckled, feeling your head loll back and your eyes roll, fluttering rapidly. Fresh tensed, smelling the alcohol tainting your breath and his fists balled up the fabric of your jacket. His teeth ground together noisily, and he pulled you up fully so that you could at least stand on your own feet.

"Candy-face, let's get you into bed, c'mon," Fresh mumbled, arm sliding around your back and the other dropping further down to your legs, grunting before lifting you. Laughter bubbled from your throat and you threw your arms around his neck, kicking your legs out and knocking him slightly off balance as he carried you towards the bedroom. You tried talking to him, but most of the things that came out were nonsense or butchered song-lyrics, and Fresh felt his jaw tighten. When he arrived, Fresh pressed his back up to the door to close it and walked to the bed, gently laying your body on top of it. Your limbs flopped out around you and you wiggled a bit, hands grasping out for Fresh.

"Fr-esh! I need you to help me," you exasperatedly cried out, halting him. He quirked a brow at you, his smile tight, but still feeling his heart swell.

"What do you need me to do?" he quizzically asked, hands now in his pockets. You began clawing at your clothes, body squirming even more than before, and Fresh's smile actually dropped.

"My clothes, can - ...can you help me get undressed?" it sounded so innocent, so normal, so friendly. Fresh almost lost it right then and there, but he managed to contain himself and he stalked forward a couple of inches, leering down at you. His hands left his pockets, smile returning.

"Of course, baby-cakes," Fresh responded, watching you prop yourself up on your elbows just enough that he could pull you further up into a sitting position. You giggly thanked him, grinning cutely and watching his movements. Fresh grasped for the hood of your jacket, tugging out and down your arms before dropping it down by the bed. His eyes trailed over your outfit, a simplistically cute black, wool-knit long sleeve and a salmon pink corduroy skirt with a pair of coal gray tights to top it off. Fresh noticed that you must have kicked off your shoes somewhere along the lines because they were nowhere to be seen, and he shrugged, hands grabbing for the button dotted in the center of your skirt.

He unbuttoned and unzipped it, yanking it down over your hips and making you fall back a bit as the force lifted you enough to remove it and throw your world askew. Fresh then worked on your tights, shimmying them down your plush thighs and feeling his own touch linger and trail as he finally pulled them all the way off. He glanced back up, eyes memorizing the lacy pattern of your black panties before he finally gripped the bottom of your shirt. It was easy: raise it up, touch your sides, study how pretty that white and lacy and strapless bra was, pull it over your head and arms, then voila. Shirt removed.

Fresh knew exactly what you wore to bed, his eyes sliding over to the thick, oversized navy-green long-sleeve abandoned on your bed this morning. He curled his index phalange in, using his magic to levitate it towards him and catching it. You yawned, seeing him turn the shirt right side out and reaching behind yourself to unclasp your bra, and Fresh panicked.

"W-wait, (Name), please don't," he spewed out and you tilted your head in confusion.

"Huh? What, Fresh, what's wrong?" he didn't respond, watching as you started back up and fumbled with the clasps, making Fresh gulp. "Come on, I really need help, I wanna sleep!" You pouted and Fresh sucked in air sharply through his teeth, settling the sweater down beside one of your legs and leaning in. Fresh was breathing heavily, he couldn't help it. He always got this way whenever he was flushed so intimately against your semi-naked body, having only experienced this whenever it was really hot and you couldn't sleep with a shirt on.

His arms snaked around your back and his skull rested on one of your shoulders, peering down at the few clasps to see what he was doing. Fresh could feel your heartbeat, feel your warmth, and feel how soft your skin was. His own phalanges fiddled nervously, trying to prolong this moment but trying to rein himself enough as to not pounce on you immediately. Fresh froze up, having almost finished, whenever he felt your own arms wrap around him again. Your head nuzzled into his clavicle and a shiver traced down his spine, making him shudder as he finally unclasped your bra and pulled it from your body.

Fresh tried to pull back, but you kept him firmly in place. His hands subconsciously let the bra fall to the floor, palming over your back and drawing himself further towards you.

"Oh, Fresh, what would I do without you?" you tiredly mused, a loving sigh tickling him as the air left you. Fresh gulped again, smiling against your skin. He didn't say anything, didn't know what to say really. His lack of response was what made you rear your head back slightly, brows knitted and a small frown tugging down the corners of your mouth. Fresh drew back, too, both of you refusing to let the other go. Your eyes were vibrating, obviously trying hard to zone in on him, but still way too plastered to properly do so. His gaze dropped to the floor, desperately willing himself to not stare at your bare chest and steadying his breathing.

He would have accomplished that, had you not instantly crashed your lips onto his teeth. How plump your lips felt and the way your fingernails scratched over his bones made him lose it, instigating further and pushing you flat onto the bed, feeling it bounce slightly underneath the weight of your bodies. Your sloppy kiss slipped up a bit at the sudden change of atmosphere, your limbs stirring underneath his and Fresh grappling for your sides. He began scooting up the bed, bringing you along with him, the electricity in his kiss growing and it felt like fire on your face. Whines left your throat as you lifted your legs up and hooked them over the dip in his hips, drawing him into you.

Fresh's hands began trailing all over your body, pausing on your tummy to feel your erratic breathing, the skin pulsing alive underneath his touch. The palms of his hands slid up your chest, kneading and feeling the soft mounds mold and move against him. His tongue licked your bottom lip, wanting more than just this mess of a kiss, hips now grinding into yours. You rolled along with his rhythm, opening your mouth and humming once his tongue began to dance around inside, exploring and hungry. Your eyelids fluttered, leaving little butterfly kisses flitting against his cheekbones; his body pressed up, pushing you along a few inches.

You were sweet, like honey. Fresh felt himself relaxing onto you, touching you fervently, desperately trying to feel every single inch of you, pinning you down. One of his hands traced lower, the heat emanating from your core calling to him, and he groaned when his hand fell between your thighs. His index digit teased you through the fabric of your panties, making your hips buck up to meet his and tightening your legs around him, feet crossed. Fresh deepened the kiss as his finger finally slipped underneath the lacy fabric, testing just how wet you were as he trailed down your slicked folds. You broke the kiss by accident, gasping and clawing for his windbreaker, whimpering the longer his touch lingered.

"Fresh! please, come on, ah," you breathily whispered against the side of his skull, absolutely drunk and lost from the way the tips of his phalanges crackled and sparked your nerves alight. Fresh lowered his head, pressing his teeth against your neck and grazing them along, feeling his soul swell whenever you squirmed and moaned out. The finger that was teasing you finally slipped inside, clueless and experimenting, and you emitted a few more groans before you could pull yourself together. "Is -, ah, is this your first time?" He froze, pausing his kisses, eye-lights darting up to meet your gaze. Your head was angled to the side just enough that Fresh could see your rosy cheeks, your lidded eyes, your sparkling irises, your slightly parted lips, your absolute beauty. He blinked, not wanting to break down crying at the sight before him, and nodded. You gasped, hands cupping his jaw and lifting his head up enough to be hovering over yours.

"No, no, I can't do that to you," you hastily muttered. "I shouldn't be your first, you deserve someone special - not a friend." Fresh instantly shook his head, dipping closer to your face, his hot breath fanning over it as his breathing quickened.

"You're so special to me, you don't even know," Fresh quickly hushed you before you could interject. "I want this, I want _you_. Let me do this, please." He pleaded, eye-sockets crinkling, and you stared. You stared for an awfully long amount of time, Fresh's soul almost shattering the longer you didn't say yes, until your fingers ghosted up his skull. They toyed with the brim of his hat, slipping underneath the canvas fabric before lifting it off completely. Your hands limply fell back to the bed, the hand with his hat dangling off the bed and letting it go. It crashed to the floor and you smiled, moving to his sunglasses next. Fresh jerked away, afraid of you seeing the true him, but you pouted and begged.

"Fresh, then let me have the real you," you whined, fingers gripping the rims of his sunglasses, and he stayed stock still. "You don't know what you mean to me either, so please. I want to see your eyes." And so he let you, not moving an inch as you pulled the glasses right off the ridge of his nasal cavity, folding the temples together and pausing as you looked at his eyes. You gasped and Fresh almost bolted, realizing that you were going to be terrified of him and chastising himself mentally for being so stupid, to think someone would really want something monstrous like _him_. But you only shifted to put the sunglasses on the nightstand and placed your hands on his cheekbones, smiling brightly.

"Your eyes as so _gorgeous_, Fresh!" You giggled, eyes crinkling to a close and your lips forming such a cute grin, jutting out all plump and enticing. Fresh felt every fiber in his being jolt to life and he couldn't help when he swooped his skull down for another kiss, this one slow and passionate and tender. When you melted into it and closed your eyes, Fresh slipped another digit inside of you and began pumping them, thumb rubbing all around and trying to figure out what made you sing those pretty chords. One of your hands left his skull, searching for his, grappling for his thumb and guiding it to your clit. Fresh was gentle, unsure, as he tried massaging it. When a moan so desperate and needy spilled from your lips, his brows arched up a bit and he continued making circular motions.

You squirm underneath his body, mewling and moving along with his phalanges, jerking slightly anytime he pressed down with his thumb. The longer he teased your bundles of nerves, a coil tightened inside of you and your breathing quickened, gasping for air and whining. Your head unconsciously lolled side to side, trying to keep up with the way his fingers stretched you and scissored around inside of you. Fresh's name replayed on your tongue, crying out for him and clutching him the closer and the faster he brought you to release. It almost became too much and that coiled almost snapped, until you felt something hard pressing into you that wasn't there before and left you gasping. Clawing at Fresh's windbreaker, you unraveled your legs from his body and tried wriggling away from him.

At first, Fresh copied your movements, trying to keep himself glued to you; your breathing quickened, almost hyperventilating, and you scratched at his back to get him off of you. Fresh realized, withdrew himself, and stared down into your eyes with an unblinking and unwavering gaze. Shuddering, your eyes briefly glanced down, processing that something was there and holding back the uncomfortable frown that clenched your entire face.

“Candy-face, did I do something wrong?” Fresh asked, monotoned. Shaking your head and balling your fists, an upset hum rung in the back of your throat. “What is it? Do you want me to stop?” Once again, a head shake, and Fresh cocked his head as he observed your flushed features.

“I-, um, let me do this, okay?” you whispered, hands uncurling and reaching down for the waistband of his pants, sliding your fingers underneath the cloth and feeling his smooth bones. Fresh didn’t say anything, obviously confused by your previous statement, but refraining from pushing further. Your knuckles pressed into the sides of the pants, stretching them out so that you could lower them over the various curvatures of his pelvis and watching him straighten up to make it easier.

Fresh’s member sprang forward, violet and glowing, and your eyes widened. The sight before you left you speechless, your brows pinching upwards and irises shooting back up to meet Fresh’s. He averted his gaze, abashed and shy, and you looked back down. It resembled a human’s, about average length, but massive in girth. Closing your agape mouth that had fallen in shock and cupping Fresh’s skull, you brought him closer and kissed him again.

His tongue already numbed your lips, a curious wonderment buzzing to life inside your mind as you questioned if it would be the same way with his magical phallus. Fresh’s hands made work on your panties, yanking them down and left you toppling backwards, still clutching his mandibles. His phalanges slipped in between your folds again, trying to work back up the feeling of your arousal, staring at your form riding his digits. Your arms flopped back down onto the bed, clawing at the bedsheets and wrapping your legs around his back.

That coil had returned, strengthened, threatening to pop at any moment. Fresh blinked, then removed his fingers, earning an unsatisfied groan from you. He leaned over you, hands pushing your legs apart a bit, before placing both of them on each side of your head. Your eyes met, and Fresh choked up for a bit, positioning himself near your entrance. His shaft rubbed between your folds, lingering for a few seconds until one of your hands grabbed for his member and directed him into you.

A breathy gasp spilled from your lips as Fresh thrusted into you, head lolling back and arms looping over his shoulders. He perfectly melded against your body, phalanges curling and digging into the mattress as he sawed in and out, drinking in your throaty mewls and cries. It was magical, absolutely amazing, and his magic made tingles you’ve never known before dance through your entire diaphragm. Fresh memorized every word, every movement, every sound that poured out of your mouth. He buried his head into the nook of your neck, teeth nibbling down your flesh and tongue lapping up your sweat.

Your arms unraveled from his shoulders, grabbing and tugging and scratching at just about anything to keep yourself grounded as he thrashed you into ecstasy. Fresh’s panting spiked, and yours did too, one of your hands subconsciously trailing over your own tummy and pressing lightly into your swollen clit to reach that perfect touch to push you over the edge. Fresh watched you become undone underneath him, his rib-cage expanding and collapsing again and again, trying to keep the two of you like this for as long as he possibly could. Then, you sharply inhaled, still touching yourself.

“Fr-Fresh, I, ahh, I love you so much,” you softly cried out, eyelids fluttering and mouth parting, a few tears pooling in your ducts. Fresh froze momentarily, feeling your hips buck up to keep him moving, skull now lifted and leering dangerously close to your unaware visage. “Please, baby, come on, ah, I need you.” And somewhere, deep in his own mind, Fresh snapped. This animalistic growl rippled through the back of his throat, now pounding senselessly into you, obsessed over the beautiful moans pouring from you.

Massaging yourself became hard and sloppy, especially once Fresh captured your lips in another needy and fiery kiss that left you dizzy, feeling his pace speed up and become just as messy. You were so close, just a few more presses, and then your body jerked up when you climaxed. Fresh kept sawing through you until your walls clenched around his member and he couldn’t control himself, orgasming and spilling hot magic straight into you.

Fresh panted, swaying against your hips and letting you ride out your climax, excess magic dripping out of you and onto the bed. Your eyes were closed, hanging on loosely to Fresh, before your body slumped and your breathing slowed. The magic forming his member dissipated, an empty feeling overcoming you, and Fresh leaned over to the left. His weight pulled you along, the two of you falling near the edge of the mattress, just letting the two of you lay together in nothing but the sound of your exhausted breaths and silence.

Alcohol thumped back into your temples and your eyes rolled as you wrenched them shut, thoroughly drained and close to passing out. You wriggled, grasping for the covers, and pulling them over yours and Fresh’s body. Emitting a content sigh, you felt Fresh’s hand fish for yours and lace them together, warmth spreading through your chest and sleep finally won.

Fresh watched you fall asleep, chest rising and falling, an eerily wide grin etching all across his face. “I love you, too.”

It’s just a shame you wouldn’t remember this when you awoke.

* * *

Rays of sunshine dancing across your eyelids didn’t wake you up. The hand lightly nudging your elbow did, soft mumbling into your ear bringing you into the land of the living.

“Peaches, wake up,” Fresh huskily whispered, “brought you some aspirin and water.” Cracking an eye open, they squinted at the harsh brightness of the room, and you groaned.

“Ahh, thanks, hun,” you inhaled deeply, propping yourself up with an elbow. “God, I feel horrible. Just how plastered was I last night?” Fresh chuckled quietly, plopping down beside you, waiting patiently as you fumble around with the blanket after noticing you were completely nude and wrapped yourself up to the best of your abilities.

“You couldn’t even walk,” Fresh commented. Another groan bubbled in the back of your throat as you reached for the cup of water and tablets, tossing them into your mouth and grimacing at the bitter taste while you chewed them up. Lifting the cup to your lips and taking a few greedy swallows to wash down the horrid taste, you rested yourself against Fresh.

“Eugh, sorry about that,” you whined. “I needed a couple of shots and I guess I lost control.” His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you taut onto his side, shrugging.

“It didn’t bother me,” came his nonchalant reply. You frowned, shifting just a bit and reaching towards your nightstand so you could place the mostly empty cup there.

“Don’t lie to me,” you sighed, “I know you don’t like alcohol.” He didn’t respond to that, gaze fixated to the floor and dread suddenly flooded you. It came out of left-field, and you didn’t even really know why it happened, but you bit your lip worriedly and scanned his slouched figure. You didn’t remember much from last night at all, so you’re afraid you might have said or done something to him that hurt him; with his lack of response, your fear increased ten-fold.

“Baby, did I do something to you last night?” you panickedly asked, anxiety and guilt gnawing away at your conscious once Fresh jerked and snapped his skull towards you. His eye-sockets were wide, and you just noticed that he wasn’t wearing his sunglasses so you could see how his pretty eye-lights were, and whispered.

“You don’t remember?” it warbled out, his entire body trembling. Your blood ran cold, hand covering your mouth fearfully - confident that you did something bad.

“I don’t remember anything after my seventh shot,” you admitted, ashamed and averting your gaze. Fresh twitched once those words left you and tears pricked at your eyes, making that hangover migraine drum inside your head. “Oh, God, baby, if i did something wrong, I’m so so sorry!” Fresh shook his head dismissively, but he was hyperventilating.

“No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” Fresh grumbled. “If anything, you made everything perfect.” He was obviously trying to soothe your panicking, but his words just made it worse, and you lurched forward and grasped his shoulders. The blanket fell down your form a bit and you noticed that Fresh peeked down, then sharply met your gaze.

“What happened? Please, tell me,” you cried, “baby, I’m scared.” Then Fresh closed his eye-sockets, shook his head, and leaned towards you to press a chaste kiss to your forehead.

“You needed help getting undressed,” he answered. “Nothing more, nothing less.” You blinked in confusion at him, glad that you now understood why you weren’t wearing your clothes from last night, and tilted your head over to the side.

“Fresh, is -”

“Shh, you’re just going to make your headache worse,” Fresh cut you off,” go back to sleep, okay? I’ll wake you up again later.” He shrugged your concern off, pulling back and leaning away from you, watching your expression morph into even more confusion and desperation.

“No! Fresh, talk to me,” you begged, hand stretching out towards him,” please, let me know what’s wrong! You’re shaking, Fresh, Fresh - !” Before you could grab him, he disappeared. Your hand flopped back onto the mattress, mouth agape and trembling, eyebrows knitted together as you stared longingly at where Fresh once sat. Words couldn’t even form, you couldn’t even call out for him, just silent and heartbroken.

Your head pounded, so did your heart, and your eyes fell to the bed.

Swallowing, your soul pitting in your stomach, you realized that you were in love with him.

You were in love with Fresh and you think you messed up big time.

* * *

And no matter how much you pestered him after he shook you awake the second time, he never told you what happened. Fresh would avoid it, dodge each attempt to grab his shoulders, side-step your confrontational stances any time you managed to corner him. Everything, he ghosted everything. It hurt, it really did. You frowned to yourself, sitting all alone at the dining room table, staring blankly at the wall in front of you in thought.

Had you perhaps said something to him while he helped you undress? Maybe. It seemed like a logical explanation, but no matter how hard you wracked your brain for answers, you couldn’t think of a single thing you could have said that upset him. Fresh was your deepest and truest friend, you told him anything and everything that ever crossed your mind. You love him, of course, but did that bother him?

Glancing down to the table, seeing your hands laced together, your frown visibly deepened. That could have been the thing you said to him last night that you didn’t remember, which - to any normal person - would be a big deal. Fresh probably heard your drunken confessions and wasn’t sure how to answer or even respond to them for that matter, considering he seemed to have zero interest in romance. The thought plucked at your heartstrings, tears clouding your vision, until someone timidly cleared their throat.

When you looked up, Fresh stared back at you. It was kind of a surprise, looking at him with how much he had been avoiding you, even if his gaze was steered just directly over the top of your shoulder. Swiping at your eyes with your index digits and licking your chapped lips, you weakly smiled at Fresh. His gaze trailed up, settled on your eyes, then extended his arm.

There, to your chagrin, was another letter.

Grimacing, you hesitated. The last one had been filled with nothing but obsessed gibberish that terrified your mind straight into a panicked frenzy, which led to a night of getting abolished by alcohol, then upsetting your best friend so badly he had hardly said more than a few words to you today. You really didn’t want to take that letter.

“Thank you for grabbing it for me, Fresh, but,” you sighed, “I don’t think I wanna read that one.” Fresh started, jolting forward a couple of inches and doubling over, hands tightly gripping the back of one of the chairs. Quirking a brow, briefly looking down at the envelope now crushed in his grip, guilt stung you again.

“W-Why not?” Fresh loosely inquired, trying to steady his balance and pulling the chair back so harshly that the legs screeched out in protest against your floor and you winced. “You’ve read every other letter, why not this one?” You shrugged, averting your eyes.

“I made a mistake when I read the other one,” you answered curtly, tears swelling again and you fought to blink them back. “Tomorrow I’m going to take all of the poems down to the police to see if they can help me track my stalker. It’s hand-written, so they’ll probably be able to scrounge up something.” Fresh twitched at your every word, breathing quickening, and you returned your attention to him.

“The...police?” You nodded, confirming him and watching him heave over your table.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? Having a stalker made me stupid,” you muttered bitterly, eyes narrowing. “Fresh, what’s wrong? Please, just tell me. You’ve avoided me like the plague all day.” Shifting the subject away from your secret admirer was not only wanted, but your only chance of engaging in a conversation with Fresh. He was right here, right now. You weren’t going to let him slip through your fingers this time.

“I just want you to read the letter,” Fresh boldly stated, stubbornly refusing to say anything about last night. Your brows knitted together angrily and you inhaled deeply, teeth gritting and jaw clenching. You shake your head, also stubborn, refusing to even touch that envelope.

“No,” you spat. “Fresh, if you’re not going to talk about last night, then I’m not going to give myself another panic attack over that stupid _creep_.” Each word was laced with venom, sharp like a knife, and it looked like you had just impaled Fresh when he loudly gasped and hunched over. His bones were rattling so audibly, filling the silence of the room, and you considered that maybe you might be pressing Fresh just a little too hard. Maybe you saying whatever it was you said had been too much for him to even handle, but the way that snapped your heart in two just hardened you to Fresh’s reaction. You needed to fix this and the only way to do that was to be firm with Fresh, not let him dance around the subject until the two of you drift apart. You weren’t going to allow that.

“Come on, it’s not that hard,” you assured softly. “I mean, yeah, it might be if you’re not entirely comfortable with it, but we won’t be able to move past this until you let me know. Fresh, I’m scared.” He began panting, violet-hued sweat beading and dripping down his skull, cheekbones, mandibles before gooping off his bone and falling into oblivion. Fresh’s eye-lights darted around fearfully, like he was scanning the room for any possible escape, then cradled his skull in his hands - letter still crumpled within one of his palms. He stayed like that for a bit, a part of you worried you might have been too harsh, but then he wheezed out and spoke.

“Tomorrow,” he warbled out, stopped, paused, then restarted. “Let me tell you tomorrow. I...I need the proper time to be able to work things out.” You stared hard at him for a long time, going over his words in your head, trying to piece together what could need so much time to go through. Your saddened heart thumped, making your brain hurt, but you sighed and nodded.

“Okay,” you closed your eyes. “But please, don’t let this make things weird between us now. Can we go back to how things were before last night?” When you reopened your eyes, Fresh was studying you. Your brows raised slightly and, glancing down, you noticed that his arm was stretched out to you again, letter tauntingly calling out for you to go ahead and grab it and rip it open. Humming uncomfortably, your hand trembled as you lifted the envelope from Fresh’s hold and tore into the paper. You didn’t want to read it, you, honest to God, did not. But Fresh wanted you to, and you loved him, so you would do it for him.

Time seemed to drag on as the top tore in jagged rips, tiny bits of dusted paper flaking off onto the table, and bile rose in your throat as you looked down at the folded up paper inside. Your hands dropped for a moment, sure you absolutely couldn’t do this, but looking at Fresh’s eager visage grounded you enough that you gently slid the letter out. Flicking the corners apart, irises scanning the page, you read it.

_-I GOT TO TOUCH YOU. YOU’RE MINE NOW. I’VE CLAIMED YOU. I’M INSIDE OF YOU. YOU’VE TOUCHED ME. I MADE LOVE TO YOU. WE’RE GONNA BE TOGETHER FOR FOREVER. WE’RE GONNA GET MARRIED. WE’RE GONNA HAVE A NICE, BIG FAMILY. WE’LL LIVE HAPPILY EVER AFTER. (NAME), ONCE YOU’RE IN MY ARMS AGAIN, YOU’RE NEVER GOING TO BE ABLE TO RUN AWAY. I’M ALL YOURS, YOU BELONG TO ME. YOU WERE MADE FOR ME. I’M IN LOVE WITH YOU. YOU LOVE ME. YOU AND ME. YOU AND ME. YOU AND ME. -_

Vomit shot up inside of your throat, and covering your mouth as fast as you could, you madly dashed for the trash can a couple of feet away from the table. Your hands weakly grappled for the sides as your upper body crumbled, leaning over the opening and spilling your guts into it. Your gagging filled the room, tearing through you as your tired mind tried to process what delusional horror you had just digested, complete with hot, bulbous tears dripping off your eyelashes. Fresh had appeared by your side, skeletal fingers combing through your locks and pulling them out of the way, holding your hair behind your head and rubbing small circles onto your back.

Your knees gave out and you collapsed, falling to the floor and dragging Fresh along. His arms snaked around your midriff, drawing you in close while you sobbed, cooing soft nothings into your ear and soothing you through this. But nothing was going to work this time, it was too much this time. Your mind was drowning in ideas of being kidnapped, drugged, raped, beaten, murdered, tortured - literally any fucked up scenario that you only thought really happened in movies or stories.

And you screamed. Screamed until your throat burned and your voice was hoarse, and your breathing was so erratic that black spots swam around in your vision from lack of air. But Fresh stayed with you, and he held you, kept you firmly in place to ensure you didn’t accidentally hurt yourself.

You hiccupped, finally sedated enough by draining yourself completely, and slumped up against Fresh’s chest. He twirled one of your soft tresses around his finger, closing his eye-sockets and pressing his teeth to your neck; even though the feeling enticed weird visions to emerge and your thighs to press together uncomfortably, you were thankful.

You had Fresh.

You would _always_ have Fresh.

* * *

There were bags underneath your eyes, present due to a fitful and horrible night’s rest plagued with nightmares and lucid dreams of some insane stalker following your every move, finding you, pinning you down, trapping you, touching you, forcing - you gulped, ignoring the visions. You didn’t need to think about that right now, not whenever Fresh was sitting in front of you, anxious and jittery.

Fresh shifted constantly, attempting to hide how much a bundle of nerves he was, wanting to get comfortable. Blinking, you exhaled, waiting for Fresh to break and defeatedly confess what happened the night before last.

To say you were terrified would definitely be an understatement. You’re pretty sure you know exactly what you said, and you’re positive that Fresh knows you know, and you’re not ready for that kind of heartbreak. Fresh was more than likely going to turn you down, just watching his subtle gestures and his shifty gaze, it was so obvious. You frowned, trying to ignore the regret swimming around in your midriff and disrupting what little peace you’ve managed to maintain, and continued to look at Fresh.

Then, Fresh succumbed, inhaled painfully, and started speaking.

“I’ve been really nervous to talk about this,” Fresh muttered, not meeting your eyes. “But I didn’t know how you would react and I figured it would be best to keep it all inside.” One brow arched, and you spun your hand in a circular motion to get him to continue, aware of his hesitation.

“And I know that you don’t remember,” he said, causing all of that fear to resurface and this time you actually couldn’t stop the tears from pricking at your ducts, face hot and vision trembling under the intensity of the moment. “It hurt me when you said that, but I can’t really blame you. It wasn’t your fault. But that’s all right, we can redo this.” You cocked your head to the side, thoroughly confused, and hoping to convey that with your scrunched up face. Fresh noticed, winced, eye-lights darting over your features and teeth clinking as he opened and closed his mouth. He was searching for the nicest way to let you down slowly, you were so sure of it. That’s why Fresh was saying what he was - it just made sense.

But then, to your utter surprise, Fresh didn’t.

And he reached inside his jacket, fished around, and retrieved a beautifully vibrant maroon red rose. Fresh met your gaze, lowered his eye-lights, and thrust the rose towards you.

“(Name), what I’ve wanted to say for such a long time is …”


	2. >YES.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes.

“... I’m in love with you.”

Fresh’s words reverberated inside of your tired and hollow mind, on a loop while you tried to comprehend them. First, you blinked a couple of times, then, this brightest smile plastered across your features and you cried out happily. Hands clapping together and heart soaring, Fresh ceased his own breathing whenever you started choking up. Tears pricked at your eyes, face flushed, and you couldn’t control yourself anymore.

Springing forward, arms outstretched, and embracing Fresh, you started sobbing into his shoulder.

“Fresh! I, ah, you don’t understand,” the words came out, pouring and flowing and flooding the floor like a burst pipe. You honestly couldn’t help it, the emotions were overwhelming. “Hold on, please, I need to get myself together.” Your eyelashes fluttered against Fresh’s vertical process, him stifling the shudder that traced down his spine, and your tears stained his windbreaker. They fell in couplets, these fiery hot tears conceived from true, burning love, raw, terrified fear, and unfiltered, sinking sadness.

When you sat down to settle things once and for all tonight, you hadn’t expected this revelation whatsoever. The entire day was nerve-wracking, dread sinking into you and twisting your stomach any time you thought about it. You couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t drink - nothing. Now that relief curtained you, however, hunger pangs and dehydration tickled at your throat, and left your hands shaking. Today had been such a mess, but everything’s all right. You were okay, Fresh was okay, the two of you were okay. And you smiled. Mouth curving into this flashy and earnest grin, burying your face further and squeezing.

“Fresh,” his body twitched when you spoke, pulling your head back just enough to be able to meet his eyes. “I love you, too. I was so scared that I had ruined everything and I don’t even really know what I did. Can’t you tell that that’s why I’m such a mess?” Fresh stared for a second, then chuckled, unraveled his arms enough that he could present the slightly wrinkled rose again. Your eyes glimpsed down, smile growing at its beauty, and a hearty laugh escaped from deep within.

Such a subtle gesture, yet so romantic. It definitely surprised you, to say the least, but the respite was not unwelcomed. The rose only made your endearment for Fresh grow, and as your hands reached for the flower and gingerly wrapped around the stem as to not damage it, your cheeks flared. God, you couldn’t believe you were blushing like a silly school girl.

“Emotions are easy when I’m with you, (Name),” Fresh commented, mumbling quietly and your irises snapped back up to his face. “Will you please be together with me?” He was shy, averting his gaze and looking at the floor. You hummed, chest swelling and tightening from joy. Leaning away from him and turning your body just slightly to delicately place the rose on your coffee table, you swiftly moved back and embraced Fresh.

“And you make me feel so safe, yes, of course,” you sighed softly, resting your head against his skull. “I want to be yours, Fresh! I’m so happy, you don’t even know.” His hands danced along and up your back, pausing at your shoulder blades and drawing you in closer.

“You’d be surprised,” Fresh murmured, but you were already drunk off his touch. The almost snarky quip flew right over your head, feeling warm and loved and unbridled delight in his arms. Your own heart was pounding in your ears, but something hard and scary rammed into your subconscious and startled you away from Fresh. He turned to you, questioningly, watching as the tears that clung to your eyelashes now were no longer from jubilation.

“Fresh, I almost forgot,” you leaned in close to his face,” We have to do something about my stalker.” You stated, dead serious, and Fresh tensed.

“Do...something?” he echoed, eye-lights vibrating. You nodded, glancing around your home fearfully; hand raising and posing before your mouth, gnawing mindlessly on your nails.

“Yes, you saw what was in some of those things,” terror. Absolute terror. “If my stalker finds out that I’m with you now, then they might hurt you! Fresh, I want to keep you out of this.” Fresh didn’t say anything, trembling, and you gasped. Your hands cupped the sides of his skull, basically forcing him to look at you. He was hyperventilating, you couldn’t even read his expression - face laced with panic, fear, anger, and desire. It halted you, made your heart drop, but you shook it off and cooed to Fresh.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” you whispered. “Don’t worry about the stalker, okay? The police will handle it in no time, I promise.” You smiled sweetly, trying to convey this most saccharine tone to him but Fresh shook his head. He inhaled shakily, air whistling through him sharply like he was being choked. Your brows pinched together worriedly and you drew back a few inches, only to be stopped by Fresh’s hands grappling for the back of your head and keeping you close.

“No, … No, don’t worry about that,” Fresh panted. Cocking your head to the side, mouth parted slightly, Fresh closed his eyes. “It’ll be fine. I promise, let’s just be together forever, okay?” You frowned, thumbs rubbing small circles onto his cheekbones.

“Of course, but Fresh, I need to do this as soon as possible,” fright dipped into your tone, you couldn’t help it. Fresh was so important to you, the idea of some crazy lunatic murdering him for ‘true love’ bubbled tremors in your face and blurred your vision. “What if they’re watching us right now? A letter might show up tomorrow saying that they were gonna get you, Fresh. Come on, let’s go down to the precinct.”

Attempting to stand, you found yourself being held firmly in place by Fresh. Shooting him a questioning glance, your hands fell back down to your lap, deadpanning. “Fresh, I’m serious. I know this might make you uncomfortable, but we need to handle it. _Now_.” You strained your voice at the end, fear flaring the longer you sat in his lap. Fresh didn’t let up his hold either, just looking right at your face - studying you.

Then, eyes flickering, Fresh swooped right for your face. His teeth crashed harshly against your mouth, disrupting your already unsteady pose, sent you flying backwards. Your arms flailed out, trying to grab anything to keep yourself from smashing your head onto the coffee table and bleeding everywhere, but Fresh held your torso against his and fell along with you. Phalanges curled around your tresses, and in a flurry of panic, you loudly gasped out and attempted to open your mouth despite the teeth crushed on your lips.

You felt weightless, falling and falling and feeling Fresh cradling you, until your body landed on something plush and soft and - was this your bed? Your arms dangled uselessly for a moment, blinking away the exhilarating thrill that was shivering across your skin, and grabbed for Fresh’s skull.

He didn’t stop kissing you. He just kept going and going, melding that ridge above his teeth against your still lips. Fresh refused to acknowledge your staring, phalanges skipping down your neck and your shoulders and your chest and your tummy and you emitted a muffled and strangled sound. This snapped Fresh back, finally able to push him up just enough that his skull hovered so dangerously close to your own.

“Fresh, this is serious,” you affirmed. “Please, I know emotions aren’t your thing, but you’ll still be able to kiss me later.” Fresh exhaled, hot air fanning over your cheeks, making your eyes squint.

“Not if you go to the police,” Fresh said. Brows furrowed, head tilted, your hands made a pass for his, but they dodged. What was wrong with him? If he loved you as dearly as you loved him, shouldn’t he be encouraging catching your stalker? Unless, and this made your heart ache, your earlier theory that Fresh knew them throbbed back into your temples. No, no, please, anything but that.

“Fresh, what are you saying?” His breath stuttered, bones rattling as his skull drew back into his clavicles. This did _not_ assure you at all. Your heart jumped into your throat, choking on so many words yet unable to produce them. You couldn’t believe it, Fresh just _had_ to know who it was. Your eyes wrenched shut, it hurt too much to look at Fresh. You didn’t know how to handle this.

“If you go to the police,” he restarted, pausing and inhaling,” then you won’t ever see me again.” What. What did he just say? Your frown doubled, one singular eye cracking open to look at Fresh.

“‘Won’t ever see you again’,” your head shook side to side, trying to piece this together. Could that mean…? “Fresh, what are you saying?” Fresh toppled forward, burying his face into the pillow right next to your ear, giggling madly, hair tickling his nasal cavity.

“They’ll take me away, (Name),” the laughter wouldn’t stop. He just kept laughing, shoulders bouncing up and down and your breathing stopped. Slowly, your head rolled over to where he was, feeling his grip tighten.

“... Fresh, what does that mean?” You didn’t want this. No, you didn’t want to even fathom the thought. Fresh couldn’t be insinuating what you’re thinking, it can’t be. You love him, you love him so much - please, your praying up to any higher power, don’t say it. Don’t say it.

“It was me, baby-cakes ~ !” He collapsed in on himself, dragging you along, earning a terrified yelp from you. “I wrote them, I wrote every single one! I meant them, too. I love you! Don’t let them take me away!” Finally, the dam broke, tears cascading down your cheeks and your touch withdrew from Fresh’s body. He noticed, jolted, and propped himself up as fast as lightning and leered down and stared hard. You hesitated, fucking terrified. Fresh was your stalker - he wrote those horrid poems!

“Fresh, get off of me, please,” you pleaded softly and firmly, wanting him as far away from you as possible. Fresh didn’t waver, then bobbed his head, body swaying along with the motion.

“But you love me too, don’t you?” this high-pitched chuckle tumbled from his teeth, smile curling up into something scary. Eyes widening, you lifted up a hand and placed it on his sternum, pressing to throw his weight off to the side and dislodge him enough to bolt. You needed to get out of this room, this house, right now. But that didn’t work. Your pushing did nothing but knock him out of his demented reverie and he jumped foward, teeth snapping around your lips and biting down.

A cry spilled from your mouth, feeling his canines break through the skin and iron filled your mouth. Your vision warbled for a second, and you struggled to ground yourself, nails clawing at Fresh’s windbreaker and squirming. He drew back, pulling your head along, a few tears splattering against his bone at the proximity. Then, Fresh let go, lips smacking back with an audible pop! One of your hands moved to cradle your jaws, a sob shaking through you as you watched Fresh’s tongue loll out and lick your blood off his teeth. He lewdly moaned, slumping a bit and his eyes fluttered closed.

“You taste _delicious_,” Fresh lurched for your hips, digging his phalanges in and yanking your body flush against his pelvis. You cried out in protest, wanting to run away and feeling fear rise in your mind, scared to death. “I should have tried you the first time!” Balling your fists and rearing them back to start beating against Fresh’s grip, you faltered.

What did he just say?

“...The, ah, ‘the first time’…?” Fresh cackled, grinding his hips roughly into you and pain flared up in your lower abdomen. It was enough to bring your senses back and you started hitting him, fists vibrating at the pain from such brute contact with pure bone. Your mouth was agape, strings of saliva produced from crying snapping into halves.

“I wrote it to you, didn’t I?” The words came out in a sing-song manner, loving. “I’ve already been inside of you, I’m still in you!” At this, Fresh punctuated his own sentence by lifting a hand and gently resting it against your tummy.

“But I’m gonna taste you this time, I promise,” the hand dipped down between your thighs and your jaw dropped, an offended gasp leaving. Everything clicked. ‘You don’t remember, but we can redo this’ was _this!_ You hadn’t said or done anything to Fresh when you were plastered, no. Fresh had done something to _you!_ He took advantage of you, he knew you couldn’t consent! He fucking raped you!

But once his hand started massaging your bundle of nerves through your clothes, anger won and you couldn’t control yourself anymore. A frustrated yell ripped from your throat while your hand reared back, open palm, and slapped right across his cheekbone.

“Get the _fuck_ off me, you freak!”

It burned, your hand burned. That was so painful, it stung, you were panting.

Fresh had been dislodged from directly over your own body, veering over loosely to the side. He was breathing heavily, this evanescing purple smoke drifting out from his left eye-socket, fading away into nothingness. Silence uncomfortably settled in the room, the only sound being yours and Fresh’s uneasy breathing. Until,

Fresh jerked his head towards you, smile taut and furious. You gulped, barely even able to blink before Fresh was hovering over your face again, growling. Your hands trembled, and Fresh popped his neck, ripping off his sunglasses.

And the last thing you ever saw was a red iris surrounded by a yellow ring,  
.  
.  
.  
then it barreled for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!


	3. >NO.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No.

“... I’m in love with you.”

And that was that. Fresh’s words hung, raw and exposed, refusing to meet your eyes. You don’t even know what it was, but you couldn’t help it. Your jaw dropped, trying to comprehend Fresh’s revelation, so many things whirling around in your mind but unable to bring yourself to say them. They faltered, frozen on the tip of your tongue, and Fresh cleared his throat. His confidence dropped, it was so obvious when his shoulders slumped, and his phalanges clenched around the rose. Fresh inhaled, paused, then opened his mouth. He sputtered, starting and stopping and restarting over and over again.

“I know, I’m not much,” Fresh shifted, arm lowering and resting against his leg, hand trembling. “But I’ll give you the world, just give me a chance.”

You were elated, joy bubbling inside of your chest, a soft expression curtaining your features as you studied Fresh. Hearing his plea, knowing he loved you back, feeling the emotion coating each syllable - so many things sparked within your being. Your soul swelled, soaring off into the sky and feeling lightheaded.

This night, this moment. You had been anxious and dreading this since yesterday, unable to sleep, unable to even go on with real life until this passed. It felt foreboding, like you shouldn’t be here right now, but you realize that it was just your inner mind trying to avoid potential heartbreak. Yet, it was all for naught, you internally chuckle to yourself.

Fresh loved you back!

Grinning cheekily, you opened your mouth to answer Fresh, tell him that you would be with him and that you would return the world to him and stay with him until the end of time. The idea of that brought you so much happiness, being so deeply in love with Fresh - it only made sense.

Until he kept on speaking.

“Please answer me, I _need_ you to say yes,” Fresh wheezed, “you don’t understand!” His statement halted you momentarily. Just something about that felt … off. Your mouth snapped closed, the air leaving your lungs, confused by the sudden sinking feeling clouding your mind. Fresh was being pushy, very pushy.

“Fr-”

“I’ve spent so many nights staying up and watching you sleep, trying to find the perfect way to confess,” Fresh muttered hastily, folding in on himself, crumbling, “So I wrote you letters, testing the waters, ya dig? I needed to know what or what I shouldn’t say, but I know you like the ‘warm, sunshine feeling’ stuff. The faces you made any time you read those are burning alive in my mind. Actually, everything about you is burned in my mind. I see you all the time, even when I close my eyes.”

No.

No no no no no no, this can’t be. Fresh can’t be serious, what kind of sick joke is this? He was the one who sent you those godforsaken poems? Those creepy, unsettling, ‘I’m going to murder everyone you love and steal you away from life’ poems? A shudder tore through you, disbelief dragging down your heart and pitting in your stomach. You didn’t even want to fathom it.

“Ba-”

“But I couldn’t even put everything I feel in those letters,” Fresh lurched forward, breathing heavily and gripping his knees tightly, “I couldn’t even begin to describe how soft you feel, your flowery scent, your breathing, your heartbeat, your -” Fresh paused, hesitating, his shoulders shaking. He wanted to say more, you could tell, but you were absolutely mortified. You didn’t want him to keep speaking, you didn’t want to hear any more. You didn’t want to think about it.

You were in love with your stalker.

You were in love with Fresh.

A sob escaped you, eyes wrenching closed, and you could feel Fresh’s leer. “Please, oh, God,” your breath stuttered, “Fresh, tell me this is a joke! Tell me you don’t actually love me, just let this be some elaborate ‘just messin’ wit’ ya’ thing.” One eye cracked slightly, hearing zilch from Fresh, and both eyes shot open whenever you saw the manic smile stretched across his features. Your eyes widened, afraid of whatever was about to happen, giggling reverberating within Fresh’s sternum.

“Why would I be joking with you? I love you,” Fresh arched his back, listing close to you, sunglasses sliding down the ridge of his nasal cavity, “and I know you love me back, why can’t you just say it again? You didn’t remember the first time and I forgave you for that, I know you couldn’t help it - I couldn’t even help myself.” Blinking, trying to push back the tears that pricked and heated your entire face, your brows furrowed and your head shook ever so slightly.

“Fresh, what are you even talking about? I don’t understand,” this whine rippled out, hurt and afraid to continue speaking. You’re not even sure you _want_ him to explain, especially whenever Fresh steadily lifted his arms and grappled for the temples of his sunglasses, removing them from his face and folding them together. His eyes were closed, this violet flush powdering the apples of his face and this same color hue wisping from his left eye-socket. Fresh’s hands trembled, eyes snapping open and you could clearly see his eye-lights.

An upside-down heart, a monster soul, cracked and glowing on his left side. Then, a white oval-shaped orb on his right, vibrating with such an intensity that an inaudible gasp tumbled from your lips.

“We’re perfect for each other, we made love to each other,” Fresh shivered,” I just want to be inside of you all the time, stars, it felt so good. I crave it.” Oh, my God. No. You couldn’t comprehend it, couldn’t. Fresh had used you, he’d taken advantage of you. It was impossible, he was so close to you, so important to you; there’s no way he would do that. But, when he held you, the dizziness that overwhelmed you, the burning in between your thighs, your breathlessness - it all made sense.

What you couldn’t remember from the night before last, that slurred and blurry and drunken state of mind, Fresh had taken you. And in that moment, your heart actually shattered and tears streamed down your face. Betrayal, sadness, anger, apathy - so many emotions flooded you. It was hard, trying to shamble through the pieces and try to figure out what you were really feeling, what emotion was most prominent. It stung to even try, wrenching your soul up like a tourniquet, nausea winning, plucking harshly at your heartstrings. There was this burning, fire so hot and spreading across your chest and you buried your face in your hands. Sobs wracked through your frame, ripped at you, pain.

“Fresh!” you warbled, “Fresh, I can’t believe you would do something like that! I trusted you!” But Fresh didn’t respond, this low, breathy chuckle panting from between his teeth. He was shaking, and that innate instinct to leap forward and swoop him up in a hug was diminished, ignoring your question entirely.

“Please, (Name), answer me,” he asserted, aggressively lurching forward. You felt so close to him, you didn’t want this, you wanted Fresh away from you. “Tell me you love me, tell you’ll be mine, say it. Say it!**_ Now!”_ **Fresh slammed both his hands down on the coffee table, hovering over it and real close to your face. The rose had fallen to the floor, petals detaching and fluttering around the stem, your eyes trailing down and lingering at the sight before you finally met Fresh’s gaze. Your breath was gone, stolen by his threatening visage.

And you said the only thing that came to mind.

“Fresh, I think you need some serious help.”

Just like that, Fresh snapped.

He sprung forward, leaping over the table and pinning you down against the couch, snatching ahold of your throat. A scream poured out, clawing at Fresh’s windbreaker to get him off of you, get the hands wrapped around your neck off. Fresh squeezed, tightening his grip and smirking, hyperventilating.

“I didn’t hear you,” he exhaled shakily, “you’re supposed to say ‘yes, I’m in love with you, too, Fresh’!” You weren’t going to say that, not now, not ever - not with everything he just admitted. He was off his goddamn rocker! You struggled, wriggling and writhing underneath his body because you couldn’t breathe, but Fresh refused to budge.

“No!” it came out in a husky whisper, black spots dancing in your vision the longer Fresh held you down. “You need help! I, ah, can’t be with you!” Frothy saliva pooled around the corners of your mouth, drip dropping and trailing down your jaw, staining Fresh’s bone. And in that moment, you actually thought that you were going to die, that Fresh was going to kill you.

He didn’t.

In fact, he stopped.

Fresh removed his hands, and you greedily swallowed in huge heaps of air, trying to revive yourself. When you stopped coughing, you fearfully glanced up at Fresh, seeing him observe you with this eerie grin. Your muscles are weak, you knew you wouldn’t be able to throw him off, but then you saw his arm slowly reach inside of his jacket. Fear tripled, mustering the strength to disrupt his body weight, until Fresh retracted his hand.

Then, you saw it.

Long, silver, shiny.

A knife, Fresh pulled out a knife.

Crying out and jerking away from Fresh, releasing a startled gasp whenever you watched him poise the knife in the air, staring down at you with eye-sockets like saucers. He was shivering, his shoulders bouncing as this maniacal laughter began spilling out and filling the room. You could have drowned in it, and you knew that this was it, your eyes forced wide-open whenever his hand twitched.

“Fresh, oh, please, no, I’m sorry - ! Fresh, what, no, what are you doing! God, stop! Fresh, Fresh - !”

He struck.

His arm lashed out and his body veered for yours, sharp tip of the blade plunging deep into his left eye-socket, bullseye through his soul. Fresh shuddered, blood squirting from between his teeth and spraying across your cheeks, and you were frozen in horror. He coughed once, twice, and then, just like that, Fresh was dead.

His knife clattered to the floor, you couldn’t stop panting, irises following the dust that whisked off into nothing. Face trembling in horror, mouth agape, features red and hot from crying. You looked down, the only thing left.  
.  
.  
.  
A withered rose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!


	4. >YOU HESITATED.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You hesitated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Read at your own discretion! Suggestion: Listen to "Don't Worry Baby" by the Beach Boys while reading this.

“... I’m in love with you.”

Fresh’s confession should have made you happy, should have made you spring up and dance around and whoop your little heart out, should have made you grin until your cheeks were sore and it hurt to giggle.

But it didn’t.

You were madly in love with him, of course. Joy sparked within your heart, plucked a silly little melody that made you giddy and wanting to waltz away to a little ditty and hum so many cheesy love songs, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. Instead, the only thing flaring was fear, fear and panic and worry and sadness. Fresh was perfect for you, there was no doubt, but his life was in danger if the two of you became an item. A stalker was loose, deranged and your own personal eye that knew your every move, and they would hurt Fresh.

That’s how those crazies always react, right? They searched for you, hunted you down, killed everyone you talked to, then they would either kill or kidnap you - if they didn’t end their own life first.

You didn’t want to do that to Fresh, you just couldn’t find it within your being to put him in that kind of a scenario. Just the fact that Fresh lived with you already meant he was at risk, so gritting your teeth, you tried to think through the best way to let him down slowly. Figure out how to tell Fresh that being with him and growing old with him and passing on with him was one of the prettiest daydreams you’ve ever envisioned, but it had to wait. You frowned, not wanting to say it and ignoring that sinking feeling in your chest, and spoke.

“Fresh, I,” you faltered, breath stuttering and tears prickling. “I love you, too. But we can’t be together right now.” God, saying those words aloud hurt, made you want to break down sobbing. You felt embarrassed, slightly angry at yourself that you couldn’t even pull yourself together enough to be able to say that in any better way. Fresh emitted a strangled choke, lurching forward and he didn’t meet your gaze.

“Wh-What?”_ Please, Fresh, please. You have to know what I’m talking about, you have to understand._ “Why can’t we be with each other?” Fresh sounded wounded, sounded like you had just sliced his throat and he was attempting to speak through blood and tears and saliva and tongue. Rivulets of tears dribbled over your cheekbones, swimming over your face and you wanted to drown yourself in them. You didn’t want to do this, you wished that life wasn’t so cruel and the two of you could just hold one another; feel safe, feel cheery, feel _loved_.

“My stalker,” you warbled,” they’re still out there. Fresh, ah, we - we can’t be together until the police have caught them. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.” Your vision was all blurry, but you knew that Fresh was staring at you, leer stabbing through you and you felt so naked and so exposed. He knew everything about you, he had to know what you were going through right now. This was painful, Fresh had to know that saying this was a struggle; tip tap, tip tap, tip tap. Fresh was drumming his phalanges against his pants, breathing heavily.

“(Name), be with me,” Fresh’s eye-lights rolled around in his eye-sockets, sunglasses close to dangling off his nasal cavity, “_please_.” Why did he have to say that? Why, why did it sting? Why did it make you double-over, chest pressed against kneecaps, hands cradling your head?

“Fresh, baby, I _can’t_,” you sobbed. “Please, just wait. Can you wait for me? I’d wait for you. Let me go down to the police tomorrow, they’ll fix this. I promise, this’ll be over soon. I love you so much, please.” Reasoning with him formed more tears, streaming down in bulbous couplets, trailing down the cracks in your heart. Fresh didn’t respond this time, breathing increasing tenfold, gripping the side of his skull roughly. Your mouth smacked open, strings of saliva snapping and face all red. You wanted to go to bed, you didn’t want to be alive right now - wanted only to feel numbness.

“Fresh,” your voice cracked, “Fresh, I’m going to sleep, I - I’m sorry. I really do love you.” But you didn’t move for a couple of seconds, mustering the ability to stand and walk away, it was hard to do. When you pushed yourself off the couch, you staggered, balance whizzing your head around in circles and you choked back another sob. Sparing a glance back at Fresh, trying to make eye contact with him, but his line of sight never even saw you. He was looking at you, he was looking right through you - glaring.

You sighed sadly, eyes wrenching closed as you slowly pivoted around on your heel, beginning the miserable trek back up to your bedroom. But, then from nowhere, two skeletal hands appeared around each side of your head; phalanges lacing together over your mouth to silence you, and you jerked. Fresh was breathing right into your ear, body falling back against his sternum, and then suddenly everything felt weightless. Breath left you, your eyelids fluttered closed, and Fresh shushing and cooing while your head lolled back.

You didn’t even get to leave the room.

* * *

The sound of clattering brought you to, brain pounding against your temples and you couldn’t even see properly. Your body was angled down flat, belly pressed to some sort of table, head resting in this pillowy, leathery cushion that perfectly framed your face taut. Some part of you wondered why you were on one of those massage tables, but when you tried moving, you couldn’t. Your eyes widened, wiggling in place, before realizing that your limbs were strapped down and held in place by some sort of cloth restraints.

Then, your mouth started thrumming. You whined, gums numb, and you smacked your lips together once … only to realize you no longer have any teeth because it felt like a sharp, icy bullet shooting through your brain. Crying out once more and pressing against the binds, there was a shuffling and a pair of purple converse appeared in your line of sight. Fingers danced through your tresses, locks twirling around phalanges, and someone was humming lovingly.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Fresh said. His voice rang, reverberating off the walls, you were in the basement. You panted, terrified.

“Freth, Freth - what’th going on?” there was a distinct lisp present in your voice, unable to speak normally without teeth anymore. It felt foreign, your tongue poking around in your mouth and tasting electrified copper and feeling all the multiple gaping holes - raw, raw meat. Bloody drool trickled from the corners of your mouth, collecting in a tiny little pool directly underneath your face. You winced, tears stinging in your ducts, abhorred completely. What the _fuck_ happened to you?

“I removed your teeth while you were still out cold, candy-face,” Fresh answered dismissively, skeletal digits halting and staying stock still on top of your head. “I figured it would be easier and quicker to do that when you couldn’t resist, just to make sure I didn’t damage your gums too much.” Excuse me, what? No no no no no, this is a nightmare, a fever dream. Your brain couldn’t even comprehend what Fresh just said, feeling your heart twist up and your tongue lolled around in a small circle.

“What? Why? Are you inthane?” talking felt like a dog eating peanut butter, it was so difficult and you felt stupid. Fresh removed his hand from off your head, sighing ever so slightly, and then you heard the sound of a few metals objects clanging together. He was searching for something, digging through tools. He must have found your toolbox, your mind hastily wondered in a flurry. What was he doing? What exactly was he looking for?

“Baby-cakes, don’t panic,” Fresh whispered, lifting something from the table, his arm dangling enough that whatever was gripped in his hold was barely visible … if only he would step just a couple inches closer. “I’ve got to do this so that we can be one for forever. I promise, I’m going to be _really_ gentle, okay?” Wished granted, Fresh edged forward, fillet knife.

Fresh had a fucking _fillet_ knife in his hands.

Panic finally settled in your brain, body thrashing out and fighting against the restraints, crying out fearfully and whining. You needed to get out of here! Whatever Fresh was about to do, you didn’t want to be here to find out. You moaned out, calling Fresh’s name, demanding that he let you go that instance - but he only sighed again.

“Love, I really didn’t want to do this, but,” Fresh settled the knife back onto the tray beside the table - you assumed he was using the little lampstand you kept in the basement to light your surroundings anytime you came down here - and shuffled back. Momentary relief clouded you, exhaustion sighing out of your lips, glad that you were able to break through that terrifying personage Fresh had presented.

Until he picked up something else and scrambled back to you.

“This is a nerve-block,” he explained, “This will make the pain more bearable. It’ll also keep you still just to make sure I don’t botch this up too badly.” Fresh muttered, tone almost disbelieving, like he was trying to reassure himself that this was even going to work. Then your brain fell into this absolute terror, rending your consciousness in its grubby little hands, and tears wouldn’t stop. What was Fresh talking about? What was he doing? What was he about to do? Why, why? Why why why why why, oh, God, why?

Some part of your mind started screaming at you, reprimanding you for being so stupid, so clueless, so oblivious. How did you miss it? How could you? It had to be Fresh, Fresh was your stalker. _He_ was the one who sent those letters, he had watched, he had - oh, God. ‘Inside you’? Fuck, no no no no, had he raped you? Had he drugged you like he did earlier and done this? Tears were cascading, unable to stop, like a waterfall; a broken dam. You couldn’t believe it, you didn’t want to, no no no, please. Oh, God. Someone save you! Why does your heart hurt so much? You were gonna die, weren’t you?

“Freth, pleathe,” you pleaded, so afraid of whatever Fresh’s next move was and just wanting him to let you go. You didn’t even understand why this was happening, what had you done to warrant this? Did Fresh ever actually love you? Had this been his plan all along? “Let me go, I’m thorry for whatever I did! Oh, God.” You trailed off into useless mumblings, fear spiking when his skeletal digits brushed against the base of your neck, pushing all of those little baby hairs out of the way. Then something pinched through the skin right where your second and third vertebrae was, a syringe, and a gasp tore through you. Fresh injected something like quicksilver, iciness flowed through you - then, it felt like everything faded.

Your entire body was pillowed in wet cotton, soul floating aware and above you like you could see yourself but your eyes were still glued to the floor, unwavering. You couldn’t see anything, couldn’t move. It was like your entire nervous system was shutting down, disconnecting your awareness yet stabilizing sensations.

And sensations were the only thing you had now.

Then, Fresh shifted, something clicked, and music filled the air. A thrush of melodious voices in perfect harmony over a discordant backbeat, you knew that song. Everybody knows that song. And the skin of your mind began to crawl.

_“Well, it’s been building up inside me …”_

As the Beach Boys flooded your senses, Fresh twisted his body back around to you, fillet knife returned to his hand. Fresh leaned over your back, hand caressing against your right shoulder, feeling and sensing the structure of your bones underneath your skin. Then, in a fluid motion, a grinding

_Scrunch!_

A sound, like a champagne bottle popping its cork, and your arm felt even more dead than it was as he dislocated your shoulder. Were you hyperventilating? Had you forgotten to breathe up until now? Oh, God, it was like a cold pressure. Fresh had turned your arm around, palm facing up, and traced his phalanges down towards your own digits. The tip of the fillet knife dug into the center of your middle knuckle, easing down through the meat and butterflying at your wrist. Then, Fresh fingered through your hand, removing the entire bone piece like a glove. Your tendons tore along with it, and a yowl wailed through you, so painful yet so blissfully dull. It didn’t even sting, but the squelching sound of bone sliding against flesh destroyed you.

Your eyes rolled in your sockets, trying _desperately_ to see if it was as horrifying as what your brain imagined, your sanity shredding when Fresh traced the knife all the way up to your elbow. Fresh turned your arm back around, knife slitting an incision midway through your arm, right over the joint. He reached inside, hooked his fingers around the bend of the bone, and yanked your radius, humerus, and ulna out. More screams bellowed out, your throat raw, but was that even real? Were you actually feeling the pain, or was your brain imagining it?

“But I keep thinking,” Fresh sang along,” something’s bound to go wrong …”

He moved away from your arm, phalanges waltzing down your leg and pausing against the instep of your foot. Fresh made the same cuts he did to your hand, middle, knuckle, slice down, butterfly flare around the Achilles’ heel. Once again, tarsals, metatarsals, and phalanges coming out so easily and in one chunk. Wailing, tears drip drip drip, and Fresh’s hand sensually massaged your leg all the way up to your hip. You almost resorted to begging, but your tongue was dead weight and the words died in the back of your throat, the only sounds escaping you were ghostly susurrations.

Especially when, _pop!,_ and Fresh was able to twist your leg around - knee facing the ceiling. Then, another incision against the patella, index digits hooking underneath and then he popped it off like the cap of a mushroom. Then, the bones in your leg followed, folding in and being shucked out like an ear of corn.

The pain could no longer register in your brain, gone far beyond that of human understanding as you became just a little more than some silly old science experiment.

“And she says, ‘don’t worry, baby,’” Fresh tenderly palmed over your back as he stalked for your left side, fillet knife poised midair and ready to repeat the process down that side, too. Then, once Fresh was finished with that side, tongue undulating against your gums, he moved on to your back.

His fillet knife made a y-shape onto your back, above your scapulas and down your spinal column. Then, peeling away your flesh, Fresh settled the knife in a way that didn’t slice through any of your muscles and gingerly traced his hands into your torso. His digits felt you up, wrapping around your ribs before the knife pinched and _schick!_ went your musculature. After that, Fresh was able to grab ahold of each side of your rib-cage, unhook and pull, smooth bone sliding against your pulsating organs and then you couldn’t take it anymore.

You passed out.

By the time your mind reawoke, the phantom touches in your lower half had disappeared, Fresh had chopped the nerve-endings around your spinal base right off. “But I can’t back down now because …” was the only solid thing your mind was able to focus on, Fresh had picked out each block in your spine one by one, your clavicles, your scapulas, your sternum, your sacrum, and then removed your pelvis, too. His phalanges were still touching you, lingering inside of you, fingering and scissoring through your thumping organs; knife abandoned by one of your appendages.

You could hear his lewd groans, Fresh shifted, and your heart skipped a beat thinking about whatever the _fuck_ he could be doing where you couldn’t see. And, inside and out, you couldn’t even tell pain from pleasure from living from dying. “She makes me come alive …”

Then, something splattered across you, hot and tingly and oh, God, don’t tell me he did what you just think he did. Fresh hovered over your paralyzed body, panting and sweating and shivering, before he retracted his hands and swooped down for the knife again. The tip pressed against the dip of your skull on the top of your head, sliding down your scalp and stopping at the base of your neck. Fresh removed each block of your neck, one by one by one, giggling cutely and humming along to the rhythm. Then, his digits wriggled underneath the skin, stroking the sides of your skull before he popped that right on out of your head.

“And if you knew how much I loved you,” he sighed softly, “baby, nothing could go wrong with you …”

He turned your skull around, the last thing your eyes ever being able to look upon was the sight of his soul pulsing alive in his left socket as he shuddered with anticipation. Then, Fresh plucked out your eyeballs, severing the cords and making everything go black. Fresh momentarily paused, playfully testing the resilience of them, bouncy like colorful balls inside of arcade machines.

He rested them next to the flesh of your head, hair becoming wet and stringy and sticking to their surface as he reached over to the tray beside the table. Fresh retrieved the turkey baster he found fumbling around in your kitchen earlier, bulb within his grasp and squeezed, and then slid it inside of your nasal cavity. Fresh forcefully pushed, popping that sinus membrane protecting and separating the gray matter from everything else, and then released. Your brain, all jelly-like and sloshing, slurped up inside of the baster.

Abandoning your skull where the rest of your bones lay, Fresh tilted his head back and lifted the baster to one of his eyes, draining your goopy, gray matter into his hollow skull. He groaned, letting the baster clatter to the floor, and stayed like that for a while. Fresh was hard, aroused by how you felt inside of _him_. When he pulled himself back together, he picked up your eyeballs, staring longingly and lovingly down at now cooling flesh, and popped them into his eye-sockets.

“Everything will turn out alright,” he whispered, leaning into your body and sheathing your organs inside of him with a moist sound and guttural growl, touching you fervently, “don’t worry, baby. Don’t worry, baby. _Don’t worry, baby._”  
.  
.  
.  
And then Fresh stepped inside of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Halloween!


End file.
